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Lan Zhan entered the access code to Gentian House on autopilot, the same swift, certain punch of buttons he performed every morning, his first true signal that a new day has begun. As he bit back a yawn, packages and envelopes threatened to spill from the arm awkwardly holding them against his hip. That, too, was familiar to him. After a year of running Gentian House with little support from anyone except Luo Qingyang, he was used to juggling the heavy boxes and heavier bills that greeted him whenever he stopped at the post office.

On a normal day, he’d hip check the door and place today’s acquisitions on the table that waited just inside of it so he could sort through it properly.

Instead, he hip checked the door and discovered that the door could, in fact, hip check him right back. It didn’t move at all. The fact startled him so deeply that he stared at it, betrayed, before rational thought reasserted himself and he re-entered his code. He must have mistyped it even though he’d never done so before. In his heart, he took a strange, lopsided pride in always getting it right.

Again, he shoved at the door. Again, it didn’t move.

He knew without a doubt he’d typed it correctly this time, but he tried it a third time anyway, tapping each digit slowly and deliberately. The lock, he realized, didn’t disengage the way it ought to have: no clicking sound accompanied it. In fact, there was no response at all. The lights on the keypad were dead and they didn’t beep either.

His shoulder twinged from the weight of the boxes and his hip hurt where the cardboard dug into his side. He shifted them and scowled, annoyed at the disruption to his morning. Everything had been fine when he closed down shop yesterday. Nothing was broken or changed that he knew of. Luo Qingyang hadn’t alerted him to any problems anyway and they were the only two people who’d know.

Because he couldn’t really contemplate a version of events where he couldn’t gain entry into his own building, he tried again.

Nothing. Not even a bleep of disapproval.

Staring would do no good, but he did it anyway, hoping the lightning bolt of an answer would strike him out of the blue. Instead, a few raindrops splattered on the pavement outside of the small eaves that hung over the door. With a sigh, he turned, squinted up at the sky, ugly and gray with loaded clouds despite the mugginess.

Nervousness thrummed within him at the thought of leaving the boxes here in order to find out what happened, but they were cumbersome and he’d already walked with them all the way from the post office. They were probably safe in this cramped little alley. There were even cameras mounted on the building across from the one from which his shop operated. Some of the other businesses’ owners and employees milled around as they prepared for the day. He greeted the owner of the bakery as she stepped outside to take a smoke break.

“Problem with the electricity?” she asked, sweeping her gaze across his door.

“I suppose there must be.”

He winced as he placed the boxes on the ground, hearing the clanking of glass from within despite having called this specific supplier to ask them to secure his orders more comprehensively. Another problem for him to solve, but not the most pressing one.

Walking around the length of the building to the front of his store, sandwiched between a quaint flower shop and the bakery, he immediately saw the problem. While light spilled onto the street from each of the shops on either side of Gentian House, his storefront was completely dark. Usually, low lights from the displays that lined each wall suffused gently even through the night.

Somehow the power had been cut.

Scrolling through his phone, he found the number for his utilities provider and pushed down the feeling of betrayal that bubbled up within him. While he waited for the menu option for service disruptions, he paced in front of the door and pulled his notebook from the pocket of his cardigan, flipping to the page with his account information. This early in the morning, he didn’t have to wait long, and relayed his name, the meter number, and address to the cheerful woman on the other end.

“Ah, Mister Lan. I see the problem,” she said, which was great. Identifying the problem was always the hardest part. Whenever he’d reached out in the past, it always seemed to take forever for them to figure it out.

“How soon can you get a technician out to fix it?”

“Oh.” She laughed a little awkwardly. “It’s—the bill is past due. Multiple attempts have been made to reach you regarding it. If you can pay the outstanding balance, we can get it turned back on for you without any issue.”

Lan Zhan’s stomach twisted and his gorge rose in protest. She made it sound so easy, like money fell from trees into his hands. “I’ve received no such correspondence.” And then he drew in a deep breath, steadied himself. This was fixable. It was. And, in fact, as he read down the page, demonstrably incorrect that he’d not paid. Holding his phone to his ear with his shoulder, he swiped his hand across his forehead, pinched at the bridge of his nose in an attempt to stave off the headache threatening to burst fully formed across his skull. “I have the confirmation numbers for every transaction involving my electricity card. I topped it up over a month ago. Check again, please.”

“Your account has been flagged, sir. I ca—”

“Please. I’ll give you the number if necessary. Clearly there’s been a mistake. As long as it’s rectified now, I won’t ask to speak with your supervisor.” He never used to be like this, would never have complained, and might even have paid up to avoid the embarrassment and inconvenience.

How lucky he’d been once to have that security.

“What’s the confirmation number?”

He gave it.

Her cheerful demeanor chilled considerably. “Thank you. Hold please.”

Three minutes of awful hold music assaulted him for his trouble, a jaunty tune that felt like it came from nothing and would one day return to it, barely music, barely competent. If he didn’t hate conversing with companies through chat software, he’d do that instead. His heart leapt in his chest as the music came to the end. Though he knew he shouldn’t have expected an immediate result, he was still disappointed when the lights didn’t turn back on right away.

“Thank you for your patience, Mister Lan,” she said, a measure of the kindness returning to her voice. “I apologize. We were able to locate your most recent payment. It appears it had been misfiled within your account. Electricity will be reinstated within the day. Is there anything else I can help you with?”

Lan Zhan nearly slumped in relief as the anger and fear drained from him. “Can you confirm how much money is on the card now and how long it will last?”

“At your current rate of consumption, you have approximately three months’ worth of service still on your card and there is 2,600 yuan currently loaded on it.”

To quibble over this small amount of money felt petty, but needs must. “And will you document that in my account?”

She did so.

“Can I have a confirmation number as well?”

She gave it to him. It was even odds on whether it would be useful in the future, but he noted it down anyway and thanked her for her assistance. As soon as the call ended, he texted Luo Qingyang to let her know she wouldn’t be needed until later, if at all. He told her, too, that he’d text her when the power came back, and wished her a good morning in the meantime.

He couldn’t afford a day without power, but as he returned to the back of the store to wait—his boxes still sitting exactly where he’d left them, bills and letters neatly stacked on top of them—he tried to accept that it was better than the alternative.

The keypad beeped some thirty minutes later, long enough that Lan Zhan’s thoughts had gotten pulled in a million different directions before he’d finally decided to sit down and do what little work he was capable of completing with just his notebook and his phone. It wasn’t much admittedly, but he categorically refused to touch the many envelopes that taunted him from atop the stack of boxes at his side while he waited. He told himself it was because he couldn’t do anything with them until he was at his laptop.

He’d gotten pretty good at lying to himself.

He sent a text to Luo Qingyang to alert her and asked her to pick up enough tea for both of them from next door before forwarding enough money to her to cover their orders and the sweet buns she liked.

Rising to his feet, he plucked his cardigan from the ground and grimaced at the dirt ground into the back of it. Perhaps it would come out in the wash; he hoped it would. It was one of his favorites, cream-colored and soft to the touch. If it couldn’t be cleaned, he supposed he would have to accept it. Draping it over his arm, he crouched again and lifted the boxes, wincing again as the glass inside protested its treatment.

This time, the keypad chimed when he entered the code. Hip checking the door gave the expected result.

He breathed out in relief and stepped inside.

Even on a normal day, he didn’t take this moment for granted. Today especially it felt important to acknowledge that, whatever else happened, this place was his. He’d earned it with hard work, diligence, and more than a little luck.

He placed the packages on the table and scooped up the many envelopes on top, tucking them under his arm. Another surge of relief crested within him when the lights flickered to life when he elbowed the lightswitch. Poking his head into the tiny room that served as his lab and storage, he found nothing amiss there. Once he finished with the mail, he’d come back and work through the boxes. They would contain bottles of his most frequently used synthetic molecules, essential oils, attars. The raw material he needed so he could test new blends before sending the recipes off to be mixed on a wider scale.

Sometimes, rarely, every so often, he missed the days when he could pick ingredients on a whim from a lab filled with every molecule that could be dreamt of. Back then, he’d done nothing of value with such a bounty of possibilities. That was before he left Cloud Recesses and life as the best of his uncle’s perfumers to start his own company, free of the baggage that came with working for the largest flavor and fragrances company in eastern China.

Retreating to his office, he finally allowed himself to go through the ritual he hated most of all: sorting the mail. There was a time early on when he’d loved this part, but as the months passed, it had become—not to be so very dramatic about it—a curse, the unhappiest portion of his day. It was also perhaps the most important, which was why he didn’t put it off the way he wanted to.

Every day it was the same, though some days the load was lighter than on others. Today the stack was thick and, he could somehow tell, would be a burden to him. A past due stamp decorated one envelope. Another was an eye-catching shade of pink that made embarrassment burn within him. Many were perfectly innocuous invoices from suppliers, though even these were a strain. The returns on his own work remained modest and there were only so many contracts he could take to fill the gaps left behind.

In those gaps were where those past-due notices lived.

He wanted more than anything to make perfumes for himself according to his own whims and wishes. That was what Gentian House allowed him to do. Unfortunately, the world largely did not care about this fundamental fact of Lan Zhan’s desires and neither did consumers. This, he accepted. His wishes would always lead him into a niche. All he needed until he found and filled it was enough viability to survive.

The perfume industry in general didn’t care either. Fashion designers and celebrities—and it was mostly these two demographics—wanted the lowest common denominator scents. They might as well preprogram their wishes into a computer and sell whatever was spit back out at them. No doubt it would contain a great deal of Iso E Super and vanillin. It would sell. The next best thing they could do next to wistfully longing for automation involved farming out the work to companies like Cloud Recesses.

The worst thing they still sometimes did, at least in their own minds, was open their opportunities to independent perfumers. This was where—when he wasn’t working on his own scents—Lan Zhan lived and he hated it even though it helped him scrape by for another month or two at a time.

He was not surprised, amidst the myriad financial responsibilities piling up around him, to find a letter from Cloud Recesses. It will, no doubt, be from his uncle and it will quite likely offer him a lucrative contract and contain a brief outlining what sort of perfume the contract would require from him. It was an entirely unassuming letter, plain white envelope, address printed onto it in only the most perfectly legible font available. He shredded it unceremoniously and finished distributing the rest of the mail into one of three piles: handle now, handle later, and undecided.

Most wound up in the handle now pile: utilities for the month, invoices for supplies that couldn’t wait or needed to be replenished immediately. The handle later pile was lighter, but still stirred guilt in his heart. These also included things Gentian House needed dearly. The last pile contained miscellaneous correspondence that had little to do with Gentian House’s finances. He gave it a cursory examination. Only two drew his eye. One was purple and the other—

The other stopped him in his tracks entirely. The envelope was made of thick paper, a delicately pale yellow. The address was composed in Chinese side-by-side with the equivalent in the Roman alphabet in a hand that was familiar enough to stir an ache within him. His grip tightened around his thin silver letter opener. Everything in him clamored to stop what he was doing to read it, but he couldn’t justify that to himself. To the side, it went.

With careful diligence, he paid each of the bills in the handle now pile and input the amounts in a spreadsheet on his laptop, diligently copied confirmation numbers in his notebook, printed receipts to file away. He compared his notes to his credit card balance and then to his bank account balance, swapping quickly between websites as though pulling a bandage from a wound. For once, he didn’t have to dip into his ever shrinking savings, savings he’d scraped together for years, tucked away to give him the chance to pursue his work here once enough was finally enough.

The yellow envelope taunted him again, but his responsibilities stayed his hand. His attention turned to the purple envelope instead. He opened it and found himself surprised by an offer to create a scent for Yu Ziyuan. Short and elegant, the letter offered him a brief that only made him a little furious—oh, how he hated them, these quaint little prompts to indicate what the designer wanted out of the perfume, often insensible or vague or, worse, both at the same time—and a paycheck that would help him through the next few months if he were to accept it. He didn’t particularly want it. Yu Ziyuan was opinionated and she micromanaged the work done in her name and he didn’t like to work with such constraints—he’d done enough of that at Cloud Recesses and look where it got him in the end—but the fee was compelling, generous even and these days, money called to him as money was sadly very wont to do. Frankly, a guaranteed job—no need to submit his work against other perfumers’ in order to succeed in winning a contract—was better than the alternative, especially when it didn’t come attached to his uncle’s strings.

Against his inclinations, he composed an email expressing his interest along with a request to forward the contract to his lawyer.

Finally, he returned his attention to the yellow envelope. Though it included a return address, Lan Zhan didn’t need it and would have recognized the script anywhere. His fingers skimmed over the letters anyway, the name. Both of these things drew him back to nicer times. The pen that wrote it belonged to the eldest son of the owner of a small company in France who used to supply him with a handful of the rarer molecules he loved best. The Autin family farm was perhaps his favorite company to work with and Florent Autin was probably the closest thing to a friend he had in this industry.

He opened this letter by hand, careful, savoring the moment. The bittersweet, hay-like scent of saffron spiced the air as he lifted the flap, reminding him of nothing so much as warmth and sunlight, long days spent in Grasse with a beautiful youth who loved perfume and scent as much as he did. When he pulled the letter free, written by hand on thick stock, a few pressed crocus flowers fell onto the desk. Two were pale purple. Three, a deeper shade. His favorite part, of course, where the threads of sun-bright yellow that poked out from the center of each.

Florent wrote to him several times a year every year for the nine years they’d known one another. He was that sort of friend and Lan Zhan wanted nothing more than to find an excuse to return to the French countryside for a visit.

This was not a bill, but it was absolutely a temptation to indulge in ways he couldn’t afford.

When he unfolded the letter, there was another surprise within: a joyously rendered drawing done in colored pencil of delicate purple flowers in a large wooden basket held by a smiling girl with long, dark, braided hair mostly covered with a bright scarf. According to a tidy note in the corner of the page, it was Rakha, a girl Florent mentioned from time to time. Apparently, he’d visited her in Pampore recently.

After dedicating himself to studying the drawing, he read over the rest of the letter diligently, which spoke of the bounty shared by the Autin family and Rakha’s. Their families were so intertwined even across such vast distances as could be found between the French countryside and Jammu and Kashmir. If Lan Zhan remembered correctly, Florent’s mother fell in love with the saffron fields in Pampore, where Rakha was from. For inspiration, Florent’s parents had traveled often when they were young. They decided then that they wished to grow it, too, all for love of it alone, in order to ensure their family’s farm always smelled of this place. That acquaintance continued to this day for no better reason than a passion shared between two families for the same flower. Though they’d once only been known for their jasmine absolutes, their myrtles, their orange blossom extracts, the usual for Grasse, they were now known for this, too, all because of one meeting so very long ago.

It plucked at something within Lan Zhan, something he didn’t know how to articulate. Florent always made Lan Zhan feel like a part of something bigger with these letters, like a member of his family despite only having met him once when his uncle had sent him to scout for suppliers. It was a freedom he hadn’t granted Lan Zhan the next year, nor any of the following years, despite Lan Zhan’s desire to go again.

It was impossible not to want something like that for himself, that warm ease. Florent’s willingness to share these quiet moments with an outsider, year after year, humbled him.

His own family lacked such connections. There was only his brother and his uncle and the company they held together with cold care and careful rules. Respect was the only thing that kept him tied to any extended family, long embarrassed by the conduct of his father, unwilling or unable to forget it entirely.

He wanted this for himself with his own family. Sometimes he wished he could go back to the way things were, when pleasing his uncle with his acumen and dedication was enough instead. Or even further back, when he sat for hours with his mother as she stroked his hair, his brother at his side. More recently, though still so long ago, he would return to the blissful stretches of hours spent wrapped in his lover’s embrace.

Instead, he had these echoes and a letter showing him another way.

He owed Florent for his steadfast kindness.

Despite the inherent difficulty and cost of shipping fragrances internationally, Lan Zhan often sent several bottles of completed product—a few known favorites, as well as whichever new scent he’d made which contained the safranal extracted by the Autins’ facilities—with his gratitude in the hope that they’d be shared with his father and sisters, his mother and grandmother, one small way to keep the thread of their friendship strong when he could offer little else beyond his slowly rusting written French. He always wrote back, but Lan Zhan didn’t allow himself to take any special gratification from the effusive praise he received for his work, the insistence that he must return to Grasse to brush up on his spoken French, which must surely still be lovely, but could always use more work, no?

They both knew it would just be an excuse for Lan Zhan to visit and one that Lan Zhan couldn’t afford to indulge. Still, he was grateful that the offer was always given continually.

He did want, rather desperately, to cut a check and send it to Florent immediately, beg him to supply only Lan Zhan with the safranal his family so carefully extracted from the crocuses that rose yearly from their fields, like he used to when he threw his discretionary budget from Cloud Recesses at them, like he’d stopped being able to do since founding Gentian House. In that direction lay trouble, though, as did the desire to splurge on even a small amount of this year’s batch of safranal, sure to be spectacular if the lingering scent on the paper gave any indication. It wouldn’t last long. It never did. This was Florent’s way, offering Lan Zhan first dibs in the least ostentatious manner possible while expecting nothing more in return than a letter to say how he was doing.

Lan Zhan put aside thoughts of securing more. He still had a small amount from the last time he gave into the impulse and, if needed, he could pay Cloud Recesses a modest fee for access to their stock for his own creations if necessary, even though their supplier wasn’t as good and his uncle would exact an excruciating family dinner from him for the trouble. None of his current releases used safranal anyway. This, like many of the things he wanted, wasn’t so very important in the grand scheme of things.

Though heavy-hearted and listless, empty after the effort exerted in dealing with the grind of administrative work and the near-disaster with the electricity, he glanced at the clock over the door. As much as he might have liked a few more minutes to switch gears to the customer-facing side of things, he was already over an hour late opening. He couldn’t put it off any longer.

As soon as he stepped into the front of the store, he pulled open the gauzy drapes on each of the large windows. Sunlight, already beginning to burn off the clouds from earlier, dappled the blond hardwood floors. The light glinted off the glass sample bottles of perfume as he brought them out from the back and removed them from the boxes he kept them in to protect them from the light. Satisfaction bloomed in him as he placed each one on its designated platform throughout the room. A placard hung on the wall behind them with the name of the scent and its associated accords.

It was moments like this that reminded him that Gentian House would always be worth the struggle.

It had to be, because it was the only thing that could make his past sacrifices worthwhile.

“Stand still, please,” the photographer said, as though Wei Ying wasn’t already doing exactly that. Click. Click. Click again, because this guy was a real artiste and preferred film to digital and somehow managed to keep getting work despite the inconvenience. Even though it was kind of rad, it also meant more work for Wei Ying, who was stuck in each pose for far longer. Too bad outdated gear couldn’t replace vision and personality. It might’ve been worth it otherwise. “And turn your head.” Like Wei Ying didn’t know that, too. “A little more.” Even though the strain felt unnatural, he did as asked. In his experience, when it felt that unnatural, there was only one command that could follow. “Okay, back to how you were originally standing. That’s good.”

See? Wei Ying could call it from a kilometer off.

At least this one was efficient. Some of them fiddled for ages, trying to find the perfect pose while taking exactly zero shots in order to get there. Wei Ying had learned over the years—not that anyone ever asked him—that the best shots gave the photographer and, by extension, the audience, what they didn’t know they needed. That required a lot of elements to get it right: fate, a willingness to embrace spontaneity, throwing shit at the wall to see what stuck. Wei Ying couldn’t claim to be some sort of modeling savant, but he did have hard-won instincts and more experience than this particular career path usually afforded to the youths it chewed up and spit out.

This wasn’t working.

“May I—” Wei Ying asked, waiting until after the photographer barked at his PA to change the film to try to fix this.

The photographer blinked at him through his thick-rimmed glasses—they made his eyes seem huge and gormless, not at all in keeping with his assholish personality—and tilted his head, as though confused to discover the model wasn’t just a movable clothes rack. If the wrinkled nose was any indication, he wasn’t impressed. “Yes?” he asked, pissy, in the same way he might have asked: who are you exactly? It was nothing Wei Ying hadn’t experienced before, but it got under his skin just like always. Practice didn’t make perfect in this case.

“May I make a suggestion?” Wei Ying could be pissier than any three people if necessary. This guy didn’t scare him.

He barked out a sarcastic laugh. “Yeah, I don’t fucking think so.” And then the camera was back in his hands and he was snapping his fingers like Wei Ying was a trained poodle. To cap off this particular brand of patronizing dickishness, he also pointed at the middle of the floor to further humiliate Wei Ying. It was a very good thing that Wei Ying couldn’t be humiliated.

Why don’t I just get on my hands and knees and woof right here and now, he thought, tired, infuriated. He couldn’t be humiliated, but he got fed up easily with people like this. That ought to be sexy, right?

As the minutes dragged on, the lights went from bearable to over-fucking-whelmingly hot. Sweat trickled down the back of his neck and followed the curve of his spine, tickling. Still, Wei Ying gritted his teeth and offered a smolder—difficult to do even under better circumstances—when it was demanded of him and grinned viciously—much easier to accomplish—when that was demanded of him, too.

Yu Ziyuan was going to throw the negatives out when she got her hands on them. He knew what she liked and, unlike many of the models out there trying to get by, Wei Ying made it a specific point to know exactly what he was supposed to be doing at any given time. Nobody handed the specific details to him—who cared what the model thought—but it wasn’t hard to figure it out along the way.

“Bite the watch face, would you?”

Bite. The. Watch. “Yu Ziyuan won’t like that,” he said. She’ll think it’s crass, beneath her brand. Her preferred style didn’t rely solely on sex appeal, which was maybe why she continued hiring Wei Ying, who’d passed somewhere along the way from mischievous sex god—laughable to anyone who knew him in real life, where he’d only slept with one man ever, but a niche he used to fill when he was younger—to something else entirely: sometimes soft, sometimes romantic, sometimes brooding, not the sort to playfully bite a watch.

“Yu Ziyuan isn’t here,” he replied, petulant and impatient.

Wei Ying sighed. I hope she verbally flays you. “Fine.” If he wasn’t sure that this guy genuinely thought this was hot, he would have assumed this was meant to be a lesson to him. Sadly, it happened a lot. Luckily, it almost never made it into print. His teeth clacked against metal and glass as he complied.

Mumbling, he added, “Like this?”

A few of the PAs and other staff nearby chuckled. The photographer scowled. Sad day for him. Thankfully, he took the stupid shots he needed. “Just a few more poses and we’ll be done.”

“That’s too bad,” Wei Ying said, lacing his fingers together. “I’ve really enjoyed our time together today.” It possibly wasn’t the most professional thing he could say in that moment, but it wasn’t the worst he’d ever said either. Of course, most of the people he worked with weren’t babies who wanted to throw a tantrum about every little thing.

“Do you think you’re funny,” the photographer said.

“I don’t think I’m not funny.”

More laughter and the photographer’s face went red and a little splotchy. Seriously, how did he get hired? Where was his industry issued hard shell of not gonna give a fuck? If Wei Ying really wanted to—and the part of him he’d ditched sometime in his twenties absolutely did—he could’ve pushed and prodded. “Look, let’s just get this over with and call it a day.”

“You don’t call the shots here, you jumped up—”

How it got from weak mockery to Wei Ying being called jumped up was entirely beyond him, but he’d learned somewhere along the way to have some respect for himself. “Oh, I don’t?” He hummed and tapped his finger to his chin. “Well, good job finishing this shoot without me.”

“What do you think you’re doing? You can’t just leave.”

“You’ve got more than enough of me to work with,” Wei Ying called back. “I’m done.” As long as he pretended he had less to lose than the photographer did, he would win. That was, he discovered, how all of this worked. If he got called difficult, it wouldn’t be the first time that happened to him either. He still got work. As long as his face raked in money, it didn’t matter what else he did. That was more than could be said for the photographer, who could be replaced.

It usually didn’t feel very nice, knowing people considered the behind the camera talent disposable, but he’d make an exception just this once.

Especially once he heard the photographer call him an asshole under his breath.

“Excuse me?” he asked, stomping over. A handful of the clothespins holding the suit in place clattered to the floor as he rolled his shoulders. The shoes he wore—shoes he’d been assured had been ordered in his size—pinched. They wouldn’t let him conduct the shoot in socks. It’s too much of a liability, Wei Ying. We can’t risk you hurting yourself. Besides, verisimilitude is key, Wei Ying. You have to look the part.

“What?” The photographer blinked again—was that the only thing he could do—and smiled at him, falsely pleasant. Some might have thought it charming. To Wei Ying, it looked like it ate shit.

“I thought I heard you say something. Maybe about assholes.” I hope none of your shots are usable. Holding out his sweaty hand to him, Wei Ying smiled blandly. And that you’re fired from this gig. Given that this was for Yu Ziyuan’s latest line of watches, it was entirely possible she would. She was notoriously picky and involved in all aspects of the creative process regarding her business. If anyone would take issue with this guy’s methods, it was her.

“I don’t recall saying any such thing. Maybe you’re hearing things. You are getting up there in age after all. Ear care is very important after a certain point.”

“I really do wish you the best of luck,” Wei Ying replied, vicious, the sort of voice that might better convey an invitation for him to fuck off.

The worst part about walking off on a job as a model was the fact that you couldn’t just leave. Chances were good you wouldn’t be wearing clothes that belonged to you and that they were more expensive than you wanted to foot the bill for. These ones were okay, definitely wearable outside of a stuffy set that had been built inside of an ugly warehouse, but they weren’t anything Wei Ying wanted to stake his paycheck on either.

No, scratch that. The very worst part was having to disappear behind an inadequate screen in order to change while you overheard everyone around you talking about what happened. It was never quite loud enough to catch the specifics, of course, so Wei Ying could only guess about how uncomplimentary it was.

He felt lucky, at least, that the stylist in charge of the wardrobe managed to behave indifferently as he handed over each piece of the suit in turn. She retrieved his street clothes—plain t-shirt, unremarkable jeans, a black hoodie, hat, and mask—and turned away while he changed, not speaking to him at all. She’d been more pleasant earlier, which left him wondering if she was annoyed by his behavior or merely didn’t want to get in the middle of anything. “Thanks,” he said awkwardly, because he didn’t blame the rest of the staff. “Need me for anything else?”

“Do you want the make-up removed first?”

Ah. Right. The make-up. The ostentatious make-up they’d put on him earlier, the only part of this shoot that was suggested anything like a fantasy or sex appeal. It had looked remarkably good with the suit, a fancy eye, bright lip. It would look ridiculous now.

The thought of remaining even a moment longer haunted him, especially with someone in his face trying to clean it off. “No, thanks.”

Her attention turned away from him as she dusted wrinkles from the jacket and hung it on a small, collapsible rack she had nearby. “Suit yourself.”

All eyes were on him as he stepped out from behind the screen. They followed him across the entire length of the floor. The attention prickled at the back of his neck, turned his stomach. Everyone in their professional circles would soon know—if they didn’t already—that yet another model threw another fit, welcome to working in this horrid, horrid industry.

Hooking his mask over his nose and mouth, he stepped outside. Relief threatened to overwhelm him, both thanks to the comparative coolness of the outdoors and because Wen Ning was waiting for him, calm, stoic kind. If anyone could be called a rock in his life, it was Wen Ning. He valued him so deeply for that.

“Wei Ying?” he asked, concerned as he straightened from where he’d been leaning against the warehouse’s concrete wall. “Is everything all right?”

“Think my followers will be disappointed I didn’t get any good footage for them today?” He did that sometimes, took the time to show everyone what it was like to be a model, all the silly, boring bits that reminded Wei Ying he was human instead of just a mannequin to be posed. For whatever reason, people liked it and the companies he worked for got an extra little boost so they liked it, too.

“Wei Ying?”

“Ugh. I’m fine, Wen Ning. Let’s just go home.”

Maybe the best thing about Wen Ning was the way he didn’t push him for more answers.

The scent of garlic and ginger filled the air as Wei Ying stepped into the apartment. The warm, tantalizing hint of sizzling chilis and shrimp accompanied these smells, making Wei Ying’s mouth water. Wen Ning followed behind, head bowed slightly as he closed the door behind them. The apartment was a large one and was generally quiet with an open floor plan. Most days, Wei Ying came home and it was just him and Wen Ning at this hour. Wen Qing would still be at the hospital, covering a shift. Granny, at one of her classes. His mother, well. His mother was a free spirit. She came and went as she pleased, always smiling, always happy, always eager for the next thing. Zephyr-like, she never stayed long.

Wen Yuan should have been studying probably either with friends or at the library of even just in his room. Instead, he was at the stove, humming along to whatever music played through his earbuds. Every once in a while, he wriggled a little. Perhaps it was meant to be a dance. Wei Ying couldn’t quite say. Wen Yuan would never be a dancer.

Even with so many people to fill this space, it could be lonely. When ma was home, she joked that they should get a dog or a cat or a rabbit or something if he was always going to look so sad about how big the apartment was. She tugged and pulled at his cheek until he smiled for her and only then would she leave him be. They never actually reached the point where a dog or cat or rabbit was brought back and Wei Ying wasn’t certain that was the solution to his problem anyway.

If he had his way, he would have a smaller place, one that didn’t come laden with tight security and massive monthly payments. They might all still live together—his heart clamored for a house full of people—but it wouldn’t be so cold. Given his line of work, he didn’t have that option any longer. He got away with some liberties on the street, but his home was another thing entirely. Tight security required upscale. Upscale required money. Money required fame, which required tight security. This worked well enough, he supposed.

Though they’d moved here years ago, Wei Ying never got to stay long enough to truly get to know the place, too busy traveling. Maybe that was the problem, too.

“Jie’s on shift for another hour or so, but A-Yuan wanted to make sure everything was ready when you got home,” Wen Ning explained, which was sweet on a level Wei Ying just wasn’t suited to dealing with. It was a good thing the teen in question still hadn’t really noticed them, otherwise he might have done something embarrassing like try to hug him until he squirmed to get away, laughing at how sappy Wei Ying could be. Until Wen Yuan grew into his personality, Wei Ying didn’t know they made kids like him these days; he certainly hadn’t been such a nice, conscientious youth when he was that age, too busy getting in trouble at school for misbehaving.

He definitely wouldn’t have known how to cook shrimp just the way anyone else liked it. Hell, he could barely manage to make it the way he liked it.

By the time Wen Yuan finally turned around, Wei Ying was sitting at the counter that separated the kitchen from the dining area and living room, chin perched on his fists, smiling as he waited.

“Shit!” Wen Yuan jumped, backing up against the counter with a clang. “I mean… ah, ha. Hi. Welcome back, ge.”

“Thank you,” he replied through a smirk, charmed by Wen Yuan’s rapidly pinking cheeks. The only person in the world he knew who ever compared to Wen Yuan’s shining, innocent goodness was Lan Zhan and that… well, he had no reason to think about him. Shouldn’t have thought about him at all. It wasn’t like Lan Zhan mattered now. Fuck. “And thank you for cooking.”

If Wen Yuan noticed the odd note in Wei Ying’s tone, he didn’t say anything, only nodded and smiled right back. “I don’t mind! I just hope you like it.”

Wen Ning didn’t miss it though, looking over at Wei Ying with an odd expression of his own, a question in his eyes that Wei Ying couldn’t answer.

For years now, the thought of Lan Zhan left a dull ache behind his heart that used to make itself known at the most inconvenient times for the most inconvenient reasons. Now that the pain was familiar and bearable. It only really showed itself on the rare occasions that Wei Ying was requested for perfume ads and editorials. These, he never did, and he’d become something of a white whale for some, especially the Wen Fragrance Group, who only wanted him because they couldn’t get him.

Though it no longer sucker punched him in the darkest spaces of his heart to think of Lan Zhan, it still left him feeling tender and bruised, longing for silence and the smallness of his room, where he could mope privately and then get over it. With Wen Yuan so pleased with his culinary prowess, Wei Ying couldn’t bring himself to do so.

After only a few more moments, long enough for Wei Ying to hide the worst of what he felt away, a bowl of rice was placed before him along with a plate of heavily spiced shrimp. Glossy still with oil and peppered with bright green scallions, it looked as good as it smelled.

Wei Ying’s eyes watered perfectly as he bit into a curl of shrimp and followed it with a scoop of rice. It tasted familiar, too, now that he thought about it. “Wen Yuan,” he said. “Have you been getting tips from my mom?”

“Maybe. I like learning to cook from her. It helps when she’s away and I want her food, you know?” His hands curved into one another at waist-level. “Is that a problem?”

No, Wei Ying thought, despairing, only for my heart. “Who raised such a considerate boy? I’m going to beat them.” Since Wen Ning was present, he went ahead and shoved at his arm. “Wen Ning, how could you?”

“Jie helped,” Wen Ning insisted, painfully earnest, “and so did you!”

Oh, that was… Wei Ying was just the roommate who pitched in, who’d moved in with them when they were all struggling way back when and couldn’t have survived alone. They’d needed one another back then, when Wei Ying was only just starting out and the Wens didn’t have anyone else and it just kind of stuck, even once Wei Ying was able to afford to live on his own, but he wasn’t family. He wasn’t…

“Yeah, ge,” Wen Yuan said, so gentle in his teasing. “Take some responsibility, huh?”

He stubbornly chewed through another piece of shrimp. “I will not!”

In fact, if he tried to, he’d probably choke because he wasn’t—he was just here. But they were both looking at him like he actually was important to them and it wasn’t like his self-esteem was that terrible, but he also couldn’t just sit around and listen to them say these things and not expose himself in ways that didn’t need to be exposed. It was too much. So he did what any thirty-something man with known, accepted, and embraced intimacy issues would do: he stuffed his face and bolted.

Though Shanghai would never be one of Lan Zhan’s favorite cities, he’d reached an uneasy accord with it over the years. Back when he was with Cloud Recesses, he came often enough that his uncle had leased an apartment near Huaihai Road for him and the other perfumers on staff who floated in and out of the city for meetings with the designers established there. He no longer had access to that apartment, of course, but he missed it as he shuffled his papers, tablet, the precious, precious samples he carefully wrapped and tucked into the satchel he hated carrying. He used to travel the night before and would spend the evening reviewing his notes and the brief he’d been given without worrying about train schedules or arranging a Didi. In the morning, he’d linger over tea and breakfast. It put him in a fresh state of mind.

These days, when he was forced into Shanghai, he stuffed himself into a train and arrived too early because he feared delays. And so it was today.

Lan Zhan was the best out there: he wouldn’t fail to impress today. Though Yu Ziyuan rarely allowed independent perfumers to pitch for one of her company’s briefs and never, ever contracted them outright, she allowed it on the strength of his past work with Cloud Recesses.

Even so, he carried a harried sort of energy about him as he stepped into the coffee shop he favored when he had time to kill. It was near the YZY offices and unpretentious despite being in the very heart of Shanghai’s fashion center, carried the perfect ambiance and location. He took his tea and reviewed his work. An hour later, he was ready.

He kept his head down as he strode down the crowded sidewalk. Most of the people he passed could find their way onto a catwalk if they wanted to, casually fashionable and alert for opportunity, as though they were all waiting for their chance at something bigger. As he stood at an intersection, waiting for his turn to walk, he felt the same directionless ambition, found himself woven into the fabric of the city.

Looking toward the cloudy sky, an electronic billboard filled his vision. Not just one in truth. There were many which lit up the street, selling myriad dreams as they scrolled and blinked across every building around him.

But there was only one that mattered and it was ostensibly for a YZY branded watch. The watch itself was front and center, demanded focus. It did not work on Lan Zhan, because that watch wrapped itself lovingly around a wrist he still recognized and that wrist was attached to an arm that was cherished which led to a neck that was appreciated that belonged to a face that was…

Beloved.

Wei Ying.

Wei Ying in gargantuan form splashed across a screen in a city that wasn’t Lan Zhan’s. His eyes danced from behind his raised hand, mouth half-hidden by the metal band. A flash of teeth was visible, along with the wicked curl of a plush, tinted lip. His hair waved darkly away from his face except for a few twists that curled across his temples, asking to be brushed back. Yu Ziyuan’s signature purple formed a wicked slash across his eyes, the one concession to fashion it made: bold, unrelenting.

This was the awful truth about dating a model once upon a time: it really fucking sucked when you broke up with them and then they got really popular. Lan Zhan was delighted, thrilled, so, so happy for Wei Ying and his career.

Except when he was unexpectedly confronted with a billboard of him. That was—it was a little much.

It wasn’t even that Wei Ying looked good, though of course he did, but all the memories seeing him unexpectedly stirred up. Wei Ying beneath him, Wei Ying smiling only for him, Wei Ying laughing at something Lan Zhan said. Wei Ying, free to do as he wished. Wei Ying, encouraging him in his hopes and dreams in turn. Months and months of happy, tainted memories.

He could prepare himself better back home. Whenever he passed a newsstand or a convenient store or a shop window, he could avert his gaze. Suzhou lived in his blood; he knew every centimeter of it, where to go and where to stay away from. All things considered, it worked remarkably well.

Wei Ying, Wei Ying, Wei Ying. Wei Ying, he could avoid in Suzhou. He hadn’t thought he would need to do the same in Shanghai. He’d never been this unlucky before.

He should not be thinking of Wei Ying. Not now. His attention couldn’t be divided this way.

He couldn’t think about the hopes and dreams Wei Ying had inspired in him when he was moments from facing Yu Ziyuan’s team.

That didn’t actually stop the thoughts from haunting his steps. They remained with him as he walked the handful of blocks to his destination, unsettled him, made him want things he couldn’t want any longer, had put aside for all the things that came later. This opportunity could be traced back and back and back all the way to Wei Ying if he wanted to. He could not want to.

And yet, as he reached the skyscraper that guarded Gentian House’s security for the next few months, he couldn’t shake the slim shape of Wei Ying’s wrist from his mind.

Standing in Yu Ziyuan’s corporate boardroom, Lan Zhan pulled the small protective case that carried his future from his satchel. His suit jacket and dress shirt threatened to choke him, but the cool metal of the box soothed him slightly. Though he couldn’t trust in everything, he could trust in the work. Carefully, he flicked open the catch. The creative director and her team leaned in from their places around the long table before them. Yu Ziyuan was nowhere in evidence.

That wasn’t a problem.

From within, he caught whiffs of cardamom and amber, cut with sweet and bitter yuzu. Both of the atomizers within carried those basic accords. That formed the basis of each iteration. His finger skimmed over one of the cool, sleek little bottles as he hoped for the best in handing the first over.

In Lan Zhan’s opinion, this was and would always be the worst part of working a brief for another company. Brainstorming based on terrible prompts, agonizing over the infinitesimal budgets allowed for ingredients, iterating a concept over and over and over until everything smelled the same and nothing seemed to matter anymore? Those things, he could handle. It was presenting himself in front of a room of tediously prim suits while he tried to explain what should have been patently obvious from his work that threatened to eviscerate him every time he did it.

And yet, he kept doing it. Because he had to. Because there was no other choice. Because, in point of fact, there was only so much he was willing to take from his uncle these days and the money to keep his own studio open was not one of them.

“You wished for a scent that invoked a masculine-leaning womanhood appropriate for boardroom meetings—” He barely controlled his lips, which wanted to twitch into a sneer “—while simultaneously being suitable for a night out on the town.” They all stared at him as he handed out the long, thin paper touches that none of them ever remembered to bring for themselves even though they were purportedly all members of the fragrance division of Yu Ziyuan’s company. A few flinched when he placed the first small atomizer on the glass table, the vial clicking loudly against it. “I believe I have accomplished that end.”

He waited patiently for them to pass the vial around, spritzing the paper and wafting it around before their noses. He didn’t grit his teeth, though he witnessed not a single one of them bothering to spray it on their skin. He supposed it truly didn’t matter. Everyone out there in the real world made their purchases based on the first ten seconds of testing a perfume, rarely bothering to figure out if their skin chemistry would interact well with the scent in question before they favored or damned the product.

As long as it sold had long been the mantra.

“This is…” one of the women said, at least giving it a second sniff before she drew her conclusions. “Can it be made more…?”

She trailed off, leaving behind an awkward silence into which nobody else wanted to speak. For how cutthroat the corporate sector could be, they were sometimes very hesitant about offering their suggestions. He knew this refrain well, but he wouldn’t give in until she said it herself.

The door opened and Yu Ziyuan stepped in, elegantly draped in purple. A streetwear photographer might have insisted on photographing her ensemble should they have met outside. Her full, pleated skirt shifted around her legs, almost sparkling. The tunic was structured and geometric, pleasingly shaped.

Yu Ziyuan approached the woman who’d been talking, leaned over her shoulder, and sniffed the touche when it was lifted for her.

“Very good,” she murmured and then she walked on quiet, slippered feet toward the empty seat at the opposite end of the table.

“It’s very interesting, Mister Lan,” Yu Ziyuan said, following almost to the word the same script others had written in the past. Always, they started this way. He wondered how mad she would be if he were to say she wasn’t an original in this. “I like it very much. However…” She firmed her mouth in a thin line and looked at him directly. “We were hoping for something a little more commercial. The perfumes you created for Jin Zixuan’s newest fragrance line last year were remarkable.”

And there it was. He stared at her. She stared at him. Yu Ziyuan wanted commercial and what she wanted, she got.

From the case, he produced a second vial. At this late date, he wondered why he even bothered with the first. Hope, he supposed. “In that case, perhaps this will be more suitable.” This, he walked around the table to hand it to her. Enough touches remained for each of her business partners and these, he gave to them. It lacked some of the stranger whimsy of the first. More vanilla, less hay. Smoother. A twinge of leather gave it that masculine-with-a-capital-M feel because general wisdom inside of corporate boardrooms reduced ‘leather’ to ‘masculine’ despite how many fragrances, masculine, feminine, and unisex, favored the scent.

The transformation was remarkable. As soon as she tried it, she smiled slightly; the others showed more interest, too, peering at him as though seeing him for the first time. This was the Lan Zhan they thought they were hiring. This was the Lan Zhan they wanted to pay.

It did not hurt him that they felt this way. Rather, he could not allow it to hurt him. Doing this meant he could proceed as he wished on his own time. The money from this contract would make things so much easier for him back home.

It was just that he would like to come out of one of these meetings feeling surprised or invigorated instead of disappointed and unhappy. His uncle would have told him this was a selfish wish, counter to his training. It was not his job to stand out. It was, instead, his job to generate excellent perfumes. Even if they were derivative, his uncle wanted them to be perfect. Perfect was what mattered. Perfect kept their family’s name well-regarded in the industry.

Lan Zhan was not, and would never be, perfect.

However, he could take his uncle’s teachings, his wishes, his dreams, that training and turn them into something that was perfect for him.

If he ever got the chance, that was. So far… not so much. Clearly.

He sat silently through the rest of the meeting, taking down notes as the others discussed the perfume. Every bit of praise it received felt like a bit of sand between his teeth, the sort of grit that could wear mountains down to nothing. He did not like the perfume. He did not want his name attached to it. He did not—

he thought of Wei Ying again, larger than life

—want to be here.

He pushed himself to his feet. “Excuse me,” he said, and around the table he walked, taking the touches and vials from where they sat, already discarded now that a decision had been made. Every moment he remained here was one moment too many. It turned his stomach to think of staying. “I’m afraid I won’t be able to complete this contract for your company.” He bowed to Yu Ziyuan. “My apologies.”

Her gaze sharpened, eyes narrowing. “Excuse me?”

“My apologies,” Lan Zhan said again.

“No apologies will be necessary,” she replied, “because you aren’t telling me I’ve wasted precious weeks with the expectation I’d be launching a perfume in four months. If you walk out that door, everyone in this room will be delayed. Everything will have to be pushed back. My shareholders are expecting a new fragrance this fall. What am I expected to tell them?”

“I understand.” This wouldn’t have been his first launch. He knew, as much as anyone here, how it worked. The perfumer developed the scent. A committee of glorified accountants masquerading as creatives refined it to nothing. Designers created saleable packaging. The perfume’s recipes were sent to the facilities that created the concentrated perfumes. Those concentrées were diluted down in alcohol and bottled. Decisions would then be made about any tie-in products: lotions, body washes, endless variations on the same thing. All of this on an impossibly cramped schedule. The turnaround time left no room for errors.

Lan Zhan just turned himself into an error, a crucial mistake. If he walked now, she would never trust him again. And no other designer would want to trust him either because people talked in this business and if they wanted Cloud Recesses quality, they could go to Cloud Recesses to get it.

He scooped up his satchel—an item he never used outside of these meetings—and coat, stifling and uncomfortable to wear with the jacket and dress shirt, and walked out of the boardroom.

As soon as the door closed behind him, he breathed easier, but he knew this relief wouldn’t last long and so he knew, too, to relish it now. There would be consequences, of course. No matter what he did in his life, he bore one consequence or another.

At least this one left him with some of his artistic integrity intact.

It was, maybe, twenty minutes later when his phone rang. He knew without checking the caller ID who it would be, but he did so anyway and took petty pleasure in slipping his phone back into his pocket as he waited with deceptive calm for the train station attendant to change his ticket to an earlier one, as early as possible. Right now, perhaps, would be good.

The way it worked at Cloud Recesses when someone wanted to complain to Lan Qiren: admin required at least ten minutes to reach his uncle through the byzantine maze of contacts that stood between him and the businesspeople he wished never to personally deal with. Yu Ziyuan will have had a five-minute conversation excoriating Lan Zhan’s behavior, during which his uncle will have grown red in the face, mad enough to spit blood, despite the fact that Lan Zhan wasn’t actually representing Cloud Recesses today.

Even if he could escape Cloud Recesses, he couldn’t escape his uncle entirely.

Another five minutes and he would have calmed enough to actually dial Lan Zhan’s phone number.

Which put them at this present moment. And a second round of chimes when Lan Zhan didn’t answer the first time.

He felt around in his pocket for the switch that would silence the phone and thumbed it on. Eventually, his uncle would give up and leave a scathing voicemail.

Then he would send his brother after him.

He would much prefer to deal with Lan Huan than his uncle. Between waiting for the next train departure and the trip itself, roughly an hour separated him from that moment.

Once he arrived in Suzhou, he settled in at the tea shop he and his brother enjoyed best and waited. Glancing at the clock above the door, he wagered it’d be maybe twenty minutes at the most and ordered tea for Lan Huan accordingly, not in the least bit pleased or surprised when he walked through the door only moments after the little clay pot had been set down across the table from him.

“Didi,” Lan Huan said, concerned and disappointed in turn. If he was annoyed specifically at Lan Zhan for the trouble he’s caused, he didn’t show it. Carefully laying his coat over the back of his chair, he sat down. “What happened?”

How did he explain to Lan Huan what he was feeling? If he laid out the events as they unfolded, just as Lan Huan asked, it was Lan Zhan who would look like a petulant child. And perhaps he was. It wouldn’t have been the first time he’d been called that, though never by his brother. Still, he relayed the meeting accurately and fairly and didn’t editorialize the way he wished to in his heart. But it’s not fair, that heart of his screamed. They were the ones who don’t like who I am.

Why should I, he thought and thought and thought even more, conform to their wishes?

As soon as he was done, none of these words said, Lan Huan nodded sagely. A small smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. On anyone else, such a smile would have seemed dismissive, but on Lan Huan, it seemed a little sad, like he was trying to feign a cheerful spirit where there was none to be had. Lan Zhan hated it when he did that, hated even more that he was the reason Lan Huan was doing it now. “And what really happened?” he asked and Lan Zhan hated that, too, that Lan Huan could see through him so easily.

Lan Zhan released a pent up breath. “They didn’t like it.”

“Uncle says they loved it and you were the one who stormed out. I don’t believe the latter, but I’m not at all surprised by the former. What really happened?”

“They didn’t like the right one.” Though it felt a little like pulling a splinter from within red, inflamed skin, there was no commensurate relief to have the words out. “I knew they wouldn’t and I’d prepared for that eventuality.” When it came down to it, though, he couldn’t… “I didn’t want my name on yet another thing I don’t believe in.” He didn’t bother complaining that they shouldn’t have gone to his uncle about this. No matter how old he got or how far he drifted from Cloud Recesses’s orbit, it would never be far enough that he couldn’t face his uncle’s disciplinary spirit.

“You don’t want your name on yet another thing you don’t believe in.” Lan Huan shook his head and sipped his tea, frowning down at the table. His eyes closed briefly as he drew in a breath. Releasing it, he opened his eyes again. There was sadness there now, clear as day, not only a little bit of it. “I didn’t realize you felt this way.”

“You weren’t meant to.”

“May I ask… was there anything about today specifically that…?”

Why now was a fair question and the answer did Lan Zhan no credit. In truth, there was a reason and it was a stupid one, one so banal that it was hardly worth mentioning. Lan Zhan should have been ashamed of himself for it, but he didn’t dare lie to Lan Huan now that he’d been dragged into this. Pulling his phone from his pocket, he dismissed the notifications one by one and pulled up Weibo, fighting back nausea as he found what he was looking for.

It was an update on Wei Ying’s public profile announcing the collaboration with Yu Ziyuan and there, in a much smaller, more manageable size, was the ad in question. Looking at it again, he noticed Wei Ying’s other hand tugging at his collar.

Lan Huan took the phone and stared down silently at the image, giving it the weight it was due. “A-Zhan…”

“I know.”

“I don’t think he’d want you to…”

Wei Ying probably didn’t want a lot of things: didn’t want Lan Zhan obsessing over him, didn’t want Lan Zhan to see him, didn’t want Lan Zhan to be affected by his image, didn’t want Lan Zhan to exist anywhere in his sphere of influence, even in this small way. “I know.”

“Do you?” Lan Huan asked, a little sharp, looking up at Lan Zhan as he stood. “Because I think even given what happened he wouldn’t want you to sabotage yourself. Is that what you’re thinking, too?”

Lan Zhan shook his head.

“So I see.” But even though his words were short, his tone of voice was kind. “If you think you can’t complete a brief to the designer’s specification, perhaps you should consider that before accepting another? Your reputation will suffer for it.”

Lan Zhan had nothing to say to that. It was true. Embarrassment threatened to suffocate him.

“What about Gentian House?” Lan Huan asked, the one question in all of this that did matter. “How will you afford your operating expenses and overhead now?”

Lan Zhan couldn’t meet his gaze. He could manage for a time. His savings existed for a reason. But if he couldn’t recoup that money and he couldn’t win any contracts, he wouldn’t manage for long.

“Will you let me help you?”

A shake of the head. He couldn’t take Lan Huan’s money.

If worse came to worse, he supposed he could hope a position would manifest itself in one of the other independent perfume houses that kept springing up, but he very much doubted that. And even then, he would not truly be doing what he wanted. He’d still be at the mercy of another person’s creative brief, bringing to life their wishes and desires rather than his own.

“Lan Zhan?”

“I’ll see you later, ge. Thank you for what you’re trying to do.”

Though the sidewalk outside the shop was crowded, it wasn’t so difficult for him to slip between the bustling streams of people.

He was relieved that Lan Huan didn’t see fit to follow him further. He didn’t think he had the strength to walk away again if Lan Huan tried.

Gentian House’s door chimed as Lan Zhan stepped through. Returning filled him with a sense of peace and purpose few other places offered to him. Luo Qingyang looked up, smiling, and pointed at one of the nooks he’d specifically designed for the shop where a handful of young women sat and chatted, taking tea. They sniffed from the bottles directly or swiped one of the glass applicators to their skin like excited children, waiting to see how the perfume would grow and change with them as it soaked in, became a part of them in a way.

This, he felt, was how perfume should be, an experience across time, personal and intimate, a learning opportunity for everyone involved. There were few things as fulfilling to him as this: watching others discover for themselves how complex and nuanced scent could be.

He approached the desk, having recognized neither of the women, and asked, “Referrals?”

Luo Qingyang nodded. “The daughters of several of Madam Jin’s friends and Madam Jin’s daughter-in-law.”

Lan Zhan went cold. His industry was small and interacted with neighboring industries in sometimes surprising ways. It would have required someone more oblivious than Lan Zhan to go through life not knowing who Madam Jin’s daughter-in-law was.

Jiang Yanli. Yu Ziyuan’s daughter.

What was she doing here? And so soon after…?

He might not have recognized her face, but he knew her name. In the past, he might have relished the opportunity to share his work with her, but everything felt weighted now. Was this a message? A warning? There was no good recourse for him here and he was likely to offend someone in the process.

Slighting Miss Jiang would no doubt be a slight against Yu Ziyuan, but also the Jin family. Though he didn’t care for the cachet they and their luxury brands offered to those they favored, he couldn’t deny that snubbing his nose would do no good. He could not afford to ignore her.

Lan Zhan was not a salesman. He could not charm people into believing in him or his work. All he had was his honesty and skill, his polished demeanor—tarnished now, by his fit of pique, his weakness—and poise. Though it was difficult to approach this group of women and felt far too much like he was trying to salvage his reputation, he did so anyway.

“Good afternoon,” he said, hands clasped before him. “I hope my associate, Luo Qingyang, has treated you well?” He directed his attention to her, calmed, soothed ever so slightly. The others nodded to one another and rose to their feet. One of them said, “We’ll be going now, Yanli-jie.” Without paying Lan Zhan any mind, she led the way to the door.

Jiang Yanli remained. It made Lan Zhan nervous.

She held out her hand and he took it with only a slight delay. “I’m Jiang Yanli,” she said, easing his mind in one way, doing the opposite in another. “Thank you for allowing us to spend the afternoon in your store. It’s lovely. Your work is fantastic.”

“Your words are too kind,” he answered, overwhelmed by the unexpected praise, uncertain as to the reason for it, “though I do find myself wondering why you’re here at all.” It wasn’t normally so difficult for him to speak truthfully, but everything was different now that he’d spoken far too truthfully for his own good.

She nodded in graceful understanding. Her smile only warmed further. “My mother and I are very different people. We don’t always see things the same way. I’ll admit I was very curious to see your work for myself, especially when my husband spoke so effusively about the perfume you created for his company.”

Lan Zhan found that very doubtful. Jin Zixuan barely wanted to be involved in the process. In that small way, it had been a freeing experience. Regardless, he bit his tongue. His understanding was no more improved after her explanation than before it. There must be more beneath it. All he had to do was be patient.

“I’ll be honest,” she said, as though perhaps she hadn’t already been. “We have a mutual acquaintance besides my mother as well and the connection we share through my husband. Consider me intrigued only. I wish merely to understand the kind of man who would be able to stand against my mother in such fashion, not to mention have drawn the eye of…”

“Of?”

“Wei Ying and I have been friends since we were teenagers, Lan Zhan.”

Teenagers. He and Wei Ying had not been quite that young when they knew one another. Lan Zhan couldn’t breathe for a moment to hear Wei Ying spoken of so casually by another, someone who could to this day call him a friend. Jealousy wriggled within him, unpleasant and unhappy. He shoved thoughts of Wei Ying aside.

Jiang Yanli continued speaking, unmoved or uninterested in Lan Zhan’s dilemma. “It just seemed like time to find out more about you.”

Well, that wasn’t discomfiting in the slightest. Instead of focusing on such a thought, he tried to focus on the perfume. Luo Qingyang had brought to her the top sellers as well as Lan Zhan’s favorite, as well as a pot of tea that Jiang Yanli and the others had slowly worked through. Luo Qingyang had presented them with the most elegant wide-rimmed cups of pale, glazed clay at their disposal. They were lovely, yet understated, as luxurious as he could afford without affecting airs. If Lan Zhan had been here, he might have chosen them himself.

“I see,” Lan Zhan replied. There was little else that could be said. “Perhaps you could tell me what you’d like to know?”

She smiled again at him, beatific, nothing at all like her mother and yet he sensed a strength in her that wasn’t so very different either. It didn’t surprise him that she was a Jiang. “Oh, that’s quite all right,” she said. “I believe I’ve learned quite enough from your perfumes. You’re very principled, aren’t you?”

“Frankly, Miss Jiang, I’m not sure how to answer that.” He didn’t feel principled. In fact, he felt the very opposite, out of control and foolish and recalcitrant.

“Then you needn’t.” She rose to her feet and brushed lightly at her blouse. Though what she wore could be considered conservative—the blouse’s collar climbed her neck, the sleeves fell precisely at her wrists, her high-waisted trousers merely hinted at the figure beneath—she still appeared very fashionable. When she reached to retrieve her coat from the back of her chair, Lan Zhan took it from her. Before he could hold it out, she lifted her hand. “There was one thing I wanted to ask before I go.”

“What would that be?”

“My mother’s brief. Do you still have the samples you prepared?”

Lan Zhan swallowed and hesitated before answering. “I do.”

“May I sample them?”

The answer to this should have been no, but something about Jiang Yanli made him want to say yes. Maybe it was the fact that she’d been friends with Wei Ying so long or maybe because she seemed so kind. Or maybe it was simply because intransigence smelled so lovely on her, warm and brittle and beautifully clean when he caught the scent of it on her skin when she rose. As they passed the desk that led to Lan Zhan’s office, the lab, Luo Qingyang’s space, and the lounge, Luo Qingyang raised her eyebrow. Lan Zhan merely shook his head slightly, just enough that she relaxed and offered a small thumbs up. She hopped down from the chair and rose to clear the tea and perfume.

After sitting Jiang Yanli down, he took the satchel from his shoulder and retrieved the vials from their storage space within.

First, he gave her the one that Yu Ziyuan had liked. She opened it and sniffed. “May I try it on?”

With only the one plastic applicator attached to the lid, he hesitated before nodding. “Leave the lid off after,” he said, “please.” Any skin oils or lotions or other perfumes that might sit on her skin now could react with the sample if cross-contamination occurred. Sitting opposite her, he retrieved a clean lid from the drawer. They wound up everywhere in Gentian House and he’d given up trying to keep them entirely contained.

She delicately swiped the applicator over the back of her wrist, sniffed, twitched her nose briefly and shook her head before handing both the applicator and vial to him. He then gave her the second vial. This, she applied to her forearm, having apparently run out of space. She smelled this one, smelled it again, smelled the first and then came back. As she gave over the second one, she hesitated. “I believe my mother has been reactionary,” was all she said as she rose, preparing to leave. From the door, she added, “Thank you for indulging me. I can find my own way out.”

“I’m sorry, I really can’t associate with…” The woman before him, always a staunch supporter of his work in the past, waved her hand. “…this.” She ran a boutique perfumery in Shanghai and liked to spotlight his work in her store for an entirely reasonable cut of the profits. He’d never earned much from her, but the word of mouth was usually worthwhile for the small inconvenience of having to part with so much of his stock in one go. “I wanted to tell you in person. It’s unfortunate, but…”

She hadn’t, of course, come all this way just to embarrass him, but it felt that way regardless. Every day that passed found another way that he’d unexpectedly ruined his reputation.

The door opened with a delicate ring of the bell. His brother stepped inside, watchful, politely distant.

“You needn’t explain,” he said, hurriedly, to Miss Li.

“Perhaps when things have blown over, hmm?” she suggested, but the chances of her coming back were slim. This knowledge struck him between the ribs even as his attention was already moving to his brother. As long as he didn’t acknowledge the loss, he could not feel it.

“I wasn’t expecting you, ge,” Lan Zhan said, wary.

At the summons, Lan Huan approached. Though Lan Zhan could read the tension around his eyes and he no doubt knew it, he tried to smile casually. “Oh? Did my many calls and voicemails fail to alert you to this possibility?”

Lan Zhan swallowed around the lump of shame lodged in his throat. Before he could offer his apologies, Lan Huan was gesturing for him to head into the back.

“I shouldn’t leave the front,” Lan Zhan insisted, but it was probably a moot point. Few enough people were showing up today and all of them seemed interested in bringing good news to him. Sighing, he came out from behind the desk and approached the door, locking it before turning off the single light to indicate that the shop was open. If anyone came, they could wait. It wasn’t like he could anger people more than he’d already done. “What is it you were wanting?”

“Lan Zhan,” he said, soft, gentle, too gentle.

As much as he loved his brother and knew his brother loved him, he wasn’t interested in Lan Huan’s gentleness right now. His failure was still too close for comfort and even if Lan Huan was optimistic, Lan Zhan couldn’t be. It wouldn’t blow over. Lan Huan being here just served as a reminder of all the things that were no longer his.

Lan Zhan gestured him to the back of the store.

Ever since Wei Ying, Lan Huan’s relationship with their uncle had always been the less fraught of the two. Before that point, Lan Zhan had been his uncle’s protégé and he’d benefitted as such. From their uncle, Lan Huan learned how to handle the business side of things, but Lan Qiren’s true love had always been the love of a perfumer toward their medium. Lan Zhan shared that passion.

He just didn’t share it correctly and Wei Ying exposed that divide. Ever since, Lan Qiren had looked for his father’s penchant for ‘destructive romanticism’ in him. Worse, he found it at every turn. For him, it was probably a matter of time before something like this happened.

“How long do you intend to allow this to go on for?” Lan Huan asked, closing the door to Lan Zhan’s office. Before, Lan Zhan had always found it an appropriate size. Now it seemed too small to contain both of them.

“To what are you referring?”

Lan Huan sat before he answered, perhaps displaying a stubbornness of his own. “You’re freezing me out, A-Zhan. I’m not your enemy here.”

Ah, that.

“I realize that there is no enemy in this situation,” Lan Zhan replied, taking his own seat, glad to have a desk again between them. “Except perhaps for me.”

“A-Zhan, really. Nobody sees you as an enemy. We just want to understand.”

He was reasonably certain that Yu Ziyuan was not in the business of wanting to understand and his uncle gave up wanting to understand after he defeated Lan Zhan the first time, but that was neither here nor there. Lan Huan probably did want to understand, but there was no explaining it to him, not after all this time.

When Lan Zhan didn’t answer, Lan Huan pressed further, still so gentle. “You’ve built an incredible thing here. I worry that it will be destroyed for no good reason.”

Enough of this. “Say what you mean.”

“Very well,” Lan Huan agreed, taking in a bracing breath. “I believe this is your pride speaking. You’ve never heeded its call before. I’m just worried about you. I want to know why.”

“You needn’t be.” His jaw muscles tightened as he tried to figure out what he could say without implying anything more. “I’m tired, ge. That’s all.” This isn’t your business.

“Tired?”

“When I was in that meeting, I found myself… disillusioned,” he continued, slow and deliberate to ensure his words were accurate. “I’ve never felt as though what I do is entirely pointless, though so many others would consider it so, even within the industry. I reacted.”

“That was a strong reaction, A-Zhan.”

“Am I not allowed even that on occasion?”

Lan Huan sighed and shook his head. “That isn’t what I meant. It’s just…”

“Uncle will not want to help assuage Yu Ziyuan if I don’t show the appropriate degree of contrition to him. He needn’t help me. I’ll fail or not on my own merits.”

“But you shouldn’t have to. A-Zhan, this is your work you’re talking about. You want to risk throwing it away on something like this? We’re your family.”

“What is the point if I end up feeling like it’s worthless?”

“Is it truly worthless? If you go to our uncle right now, that suddenly makes it so?”

Lan Huan wasn’t trying to make him feel as though he was being unreasonable on purpose, but this was a manipulation anyway. In truth, he knew there was a degree of irrationality to his feelings, but he also knew there was little now that he could do about it. A veil had been pulled back on his resentments, his fears, his sacrifices. The only end he could see, if he gave in now, was a life he did not want.

That realization sat on heavy haunches in his chest and threatened to claw through to something deeper than this stubbornness he was building up around him. He feared what would happen if it was exposed.

If his uncle didn’t want to support him in this, he didn’t have to support him in all. It wasn’t his job to fix it. “I’ve made my decision.”

“As I expected.” Resigned, unsurprised, he brushed his hands over his knees. “Then have you considered trying to at least improve your profile with the public?”

It was rude to stare. Lan Zhan knew this. “As in…?”

“I was speaking with Huaisang about this.”

Lan Zhan did not allow himself to tighten his hands into fists in his lap, but the urge was there. Lan Huan seemed to sense the shift in Lan Zhan’s mood and offered a wry look.

“Rather, he did all the talking, somehow knew everything without me saying so, and offered a solution.” There really was no stopping Nie Huaisang from speaking his mind when the urge came to him. Even Lan Zhan knew that. It still didn’t stop the simmering resentment that built inside of him at the thought of people he knew discussing his situation without his presence or input.

“He thought perhaps injecting a bit of your budget into an advertising plan of some sort might be a useful investment. Until now, you’ve relied on others voicing their good opinion of you, but you’ve never shown anyone outside of those referrals who you are or what you’re about. Their good opinion, no matter how outstanding in the past, hasn’t resulted in the stability you need to weather this blow.”

“My budget is rather locked up at the moment.” Frozen, practically. Nonexistent. This wasn’t a solution.

“I would perhaps suggest using the funds you would have put toward Cloud Recesses labs to work here? At least for a short time?”

Lan Huan wasn’t the only one who knew how to do math. One of the first things he did after coming back from Shanghai was tweak the budget. He never truly expected his uncle to yield. “Those have already been reallocated to shoring up my own laboratory.”

“Is that so important right now?”

“If I do as you propose, I would be unable to test new formulas. Yes, it’s important to me.”

“Indeed.” Lan Huan paused significantly. “And yet if you do nothing, you’ll never be able to test new formulas.”

“You’re presupposing Nie Huaisang’s idea will be successful.”

“I’m actually presupposing that your idea will not.” Lan Huan smiled knowingly. “And outright telling you that I haven’t come up with anything better that doesn’t require you or uncle backing down, which won’t happen. Uncle will refuse to budge and Yu Ziyuan doesn’t appreciate all this extra negative press you’ve linked her to. It’s your decision ultimately, of course. I’m just trying to present a solution that didn’t require you budging as well.” His eyes were very soft and very concerned and Lan Zhan didn’t like it a single bit; he wasn’t the sort who required other people’s concern. He always got along just fine.

“Wouldn’t the timing seem disingenuous?” Lan Zhan was grasping at straws. It was one thing to know he was backed into a corner; it was another to hear it from his brother. “It would be suspicious for me to suddenly change my manner of operation.”

“Perhaps,” Lan Huan agreed, unwilling to give Lan Zhan false assurances on the matter. His family, they’d always been up front in their treatment of one another. He wouldn’t sugarcoat the truth just because Lan Zhan might have wanted the assurance. “But you can’t deny that you refuse to step out of your ivory tower. Lan Zhan, when have you taken a chance?”

He took his chance a year ago when he finally threw aside his relationship with his uncle and the place he considered home for this. Was that not enough of a sacrifice?

“I don’t wish to do this.”

Lan Huan took this with the equanimity he always displayed toward his disappointments: elegantly and gracefully and as though he were purposefully leaving things unsaid. Though Lan Zhan hated this behavior most of the time, he was pleased for it now. The subtleness of the action gave Lan Zhan the freedom to ignore it. Pushing himself to his feet, he smiled at Lan Zhan to indicate there were no hard feelings. With a gentleness Lan Zhan couldn’t bear, he said, “Please let me know if you need anything. And perhaps make it so I can reach you if needed?”

Lan Huan was his brother and he did care. Whatever else happened, it wasn’t right to freeze him out. Shame wound its way around his heart. He never sought to be a burden or a point of contention with anyone, let alone his brother. “I will. I’m sorry I worried you.”

“A-Zhan, you never have to apologize to me.”

Once Lan Huan was gone, he had a hard time willing himself to stand again and resume his place back out on the floor. He did it anyway. Unlocking the door and switching the light back on, he returned to the counter and sat on the stool tucked beneath it.

Nobody else troubled him for the rest of the day.

Nobody else came into the shop at all.

Days passed along similar lines and though few enough showed interest in buying anything from him, the mail’s passion for attention never flagged. It arrived in droves: mostly bills, of course, and forgettable ads. Tucked amidst them was a cream envelope sealed with purple wax. YZY was embossed in said wax, inside of sharp, electric looking curls at the edge of the seal. As he considered it—and it couldn’t have been a misdirected letter, as it carried his name in purple ink along the front—he weighed the likelihood that the threat of litigation would be tucked inside. Though she wasn’t the sort to sue, it was keeping in Yu Ziyuan’s character that she might try to scare him with elegant stationary.

When he opened it, however, all that fell out was one thick sheet of cardstock, also elegant cream, also embossed, also covered in purple ink.

It was an invitation. To a party. Celebrating the launch of yet another one of Yu Ziyuan’s ventures, this time a collaboration with Jin Zixuan, announced with classy understatement by the addition of the recognizable peony logo.

This had to be a joke or somebody forgot to remove him from the guest list following his descent into madness. Or it was a test to see if he would show his face, a signal that Yu Ziyuan was willing to take the high road with him.

He didn’t dare hope and yet something like it fluttered within his chest.

Turning the invitation over in his hands, he pondered it and what it might mean to him if only he could fix what he’d done. Barring any consideration of Wei Ying, if he’d known he would be so thoroughly excised from his birthright, would he have been so cavalier in that meeting? No, he decided. No, he would have held his tongue and seen the job through to the end.

It was an opportunity to apologize if nothing else. As frustrated as he’d been, he hadn’t conducted himself in a way befitting to his character. It probably wouldn’t get him back into her good graces, but he owed it to himself and to Gentian House to try. If he could somehow convince her to give him another shot, he would let her have the perfume she preferred. If he had to compromise—and clearly he did, why should he enjoy anything without it— he could compromise for that. It was the only thing he had left worth compromising for.

Decision made, he set aside the invitation and resumed his usual practice as regarded the mail.

It was every bit as demoralizing as it always was.

Wei Ying tugged at his collar and sighed, shaking out his arms as he tried to resettle the jacket across his shoulders. It was just a little bit too small for his tastes, but he’d been assured it looked beautiful, the lines clean and perfect and, most importantly, cool enough to attend one of Yu Ziyuan’s parties.

If left to his own devices, he preferred things that were too large to just right.

“Stop it,” Jiang Cheng said, slapping his arm with the back of his hand. “You’re going to wrinkle it.”

“It’s just a jacket.” Wei Ying pouted and made a whining noise in the back of his throat. The vest was a lot, too, and he kind of resented the purple and gold he’d been told to wear somewhere on his person that wound up being collar clips because he couldn’t stomach the thought of a tie, too. He needed his throat free and unconstricted so he could down every flute of champagne in his vicinity. “Let me lose it. The other models here aren’t even in suits.”

In fact, one of the bastards was wearing some truly, heinously, fantastically gold drop-crotch joggers, which was fucking inspired and Wei Ying wanted them desperately and not just because they looked really god-damned comfortable. Mostly it was because they were pissing Jin Zixuan off. Every time the guy swayed through his sightline—good hips, really good hips, Wei Ying wished he could care because damn—he got a constipated look on his face and stopped talking completely. Keeping an eye on them was the most fun Wei Ying could hope to have at one of these launches.

Frankly, Wei Ying needed to up his game. This was his new metric: if he wasn’t making Jin Zixuan want to die with his sartorial choices, who was he as a person? Was he working hard enough? The answer was a resounding no.

And then, “A-Ying! Aren’t you looking so handsome from the back,” in a cherished voice and Wei Ying couldn’t regret how stifled he felt.

“Yanli-jie!” he called, spinning to face her. “My ass does look pretty okay in these pants, don’t they?”

Jiang Yanli smiled at him and patted his cheek. After adjusting the delicate gold chain that connected two purple lotuses on his collar, she tugged on the subtle weave of his black jacket. Suddenly, the jacket felt way better than before. “Your ass is stunning in these pants. Isn’t that right, A-Cheng?”

“No. I’ve made it a rule to never think about Wei Ying’s ass. I already see too much of it stretched across magazine ads.”

“If you would ever let yourself be photographed, I’m sure your ass could chap mine in any contest, A-Cheng. It’s a world-class ass. Firm and—”

Jiang Cheng flushed a violent shade of red and scowled, swiping a flute of champagne from a passing waiter who absolutely heard everything being said if the snotty glare was any indication. For Wei Ying’s part, he didn’t care if he was judged, but Jiang Cheng…

“—juicy. Just like a fucking peach,” Wei Ying finished, loud enough for the waiter to hear and cough about. “A lot of people would cry for an ass like that. They’d—”

“Wei Ying,” Jiang Yanli said, fond. “You’ve embarrassed A-Cheng enough. If he wants to hide his finest asset in ill-fitting trousers, that’s his concern.”

“Jie!” Jiang Cheng coughed as he swallowed at least half of the champagne in his glass and then sputtered. “These aren’t even ill-fitting! They’re tailored correctly. Not everyone believes their thigh muscles should be visible through wool suiting.”

Though he waggled his eyebrows, Wei Ying scanned the crowd and sighed. If they weren’t careful, this argument could drag for days. Not worth it, especially given that he agreed. “I fucking hate these things. How do the two of you manage to come to them so often?” It felt like every other night he was hearing about the Jiang siblings attending this event or that one or that other one way over there that lasted all night. Just the thought exhausted him. And Jiang Yanli even had a kid! That she doted on! And he was a cool kid despite his father being Jin Zixuan! Even the fact that the kiddo was one of these hot up-and-coming models always threatening to take Wei Ying’s work—please, he thought, please take my work, I’m tired—didn’t alter Wei Ying’s opinion of him. “They’re insipid.”

“Amen.” Jiang Cheng finished off the rest of his drink. “Jie has it the hardest. She’s gotta attend the peacock’s and our mother’s. I’d flip my shit.”

“Some people find them enjoyable.” She shrugged and patted Wei Ying’s shoulder again. “I don’t, but I like to support my family and it’s an excuse to dress nicely.”

“You always dress nicely!” Jiang Cheng insisted.

With an arched eyebrow, she shook her head and passed behind them both, arms wrapped around each of their shoulders, conspiratorial. “I’m going to find my husband before he does something stupid.” She leaned in close. “A-Ying, there’s something I need to tell you and I don’t want you to flip out, okay?”

“Uh…” That wasn’t ominous at all. “Okay?”

She grimaced slightly. “Lan Zhan might be in attendance tonight.”

Wei Ying nodded along. Sure, yeah. Okay. That made sense. Was this what flipping out looked like? It sure didn’t feel like it. Was this—? Wait. “Lan Zhan.” Oh, his heart. It was—kind of doing something that worried him. Pressing his hand to his chest, he rubbed. Hard. “Lan Zhan’s here?”

“I don’t know yet,” she said, “but I… might have sent out an invitation to him that was meant to be revoked.”

“Jie! Why would you do that?” Jiang Cheng was always good for righteous anger and this time was no different and Wei Ying was grateful because the only thing he could hear was sirens going off in the back of his mind. “That asshole deserves—”

“Wait,” Wei Ying said. His heart was still beating way too fast, but he was—there was a lot of information being thrown at him right now. The most important of which was they had news. About Lan Zhan. And hadn’t shared it. “What’s going on?”

Jiang Yanli frowned and very conveniently began checking her nail polish for flaws, but Jiang Cheng had no compunctions about smiling viciously and saying, “He fucked up a contract with our mother and now he’s paying for it. It’s pretty much the only thing anyone is talking about, which is how I know not to be surprised. You don’t hear about anything.”

“Because there’s never anything worth hearing,” Wei Ying answered. Long ago, he learned to stop paying attention to gossip. “Case in point: Lan Zhan doesn’t fuck up.”

Jiang Cheng snorted. “He blew it in a meeting with my mother. Walked right out of it. The man is capable of fucking up. Case in point—” Flapping his hand in Wei Ying’s direction, he paused deliberately. “—you.”

The last thing Wei Ying ever wanted to think about was how Lan Zhan fucked up with regard to their relationship. It just wasn’t how he chose to spend his evenings on nights when he wasn’t feeling like he wanted to inflict pain on himself. Tonight, he was not feeling masochistic. “He had his reasons.”

“Yeah, well, I can’t really see what reason there is for walking out of a meeting with my mother, but more power to him. Jie, that was bold and probably a bad idea. What exactly is the plan if he shows up?”

That was a good question and Wei Ying made sure he was watching Jiang Yanli as he waited for the answer.

Ducking her head, she said, “He did good work. I just think… I don’t think it’s fair he’s getting dragged over the coals for his principles.”

“Oh, trust me. A guy like that? His principles are the coals. I’m sure he’s keeping himself very warm at night with all those principles he’s got stored up within him. Where’s your loyalty, jie? What about Wei Ying?”

“Wei Ying can…” Wei Ying stopped himself. “Wei Ying’s an adult. Theoretically. He’s just going to escape from this launch as quickly as humanly possible. Where’s your mom so I can flaunt the fact that I’m here and then get the hell out?”

“A-Ying, I’m sorry.”

“No, it’s…” It was complicated. It had always been complicated. And over the years, Wei Ying’s feelings had changed so much that he couldn’t—in truth… there was a lot he was willing to let go, forgive and forget. This was one of them. He thought the glimmer of… something inside of him might have been gratitude that Jiang Yanli had extended a hand to him. If he did mess up, he was glad there was someone out there who could help him. That didn’t mean he wanted to be here to witness the outcome. “Is he in a lot of trouble? From what I remember, his uncle is very…” Another jag of emotion within him. “…strict.”

Jiang Yanli offered him a squeeze of his shoulder and a sympathetic look before it shifted into confusion. “Didn’t you know? He’s started his own perfume studio. He’s no longer with Cloud Recesses. His uncle’s strictness isn’t—no, he’s being smeared as unprofessional and condescending. Nobody can figure out why he walked out the way he did.”

Oh? Oh. That was… that was great. Pride swelled within him, proprietary for all that he didn’t have the right to feel it. “He started his own studio?”

“A-Ying, how can you not know? I thought you—ah, A-Ying. Yes, he did. It’s called Gentian House. If you want, I can… A-Cheng, give me your phone.”

“Why should—”

Though they started arguing over whether to share more with Wei Ying, Wei Ying’s attention couldn’t remain focused on them, not when his heart was so full. Gentian House. That sounded very appropriate for him.

Wei Ying was… he was glad.

And just as quickly, that gladness crumpled itself into a ball within his chest, hard and small. “He’s in trouble?”

“Nobody wants to work with a snob who wastes other people’s time, A-Ying.”

That was true, of course. Half the reason Wei Ying got as much work as he did was because he sucked it up and put in the time no matter the circumstances. But Lan Zhan wasn’t a snobby time-waster either. He didn’t do things like that and even if the last time they actually saw one another was over ten years ago, that couldn’t possibly have changed. That was the fundamental thing Wei Ying knew about Lan Zhan: he would do anything for the work. “Huh.” Rallying, he grabbed Jiang Yanli’s face between his hands and pressed a kiss against her forehead. “I’m glad you’re trying to help Lan Zhan.” A complicated feeling fluttered around in his chest again. He really needed to get that checked out. “But I’m going to get out of here just as soon as I dunk my head in a vat of free alcohol.”

“Wei Ying…” Jiang Cheng said. A furrow formed between his brows and Wei Ying did the same with Jiang Cheng. Couldn’t leave Jiang Cheng out of the forehead kisses; he’d get jealous.

“You two are a lot,” Wei Ying replied, breezy. If he pretended hard enough, maybe the thought of Lan Zhan being here wouldn’t threaten to break him out in hives or something. “Take care of Lan Zhan for me.”

Jiang Cheng shoved him back. “Fuck Lan Zhan, Wei Ying. Jie, come on. Who wants to help that guy? He’s an asshole. We all agreed on this, like, years ago.”

“He is,” Jiang Yanli said, agreeable as always. “I just…”

“Jiang Cheng, Yanli-jie is much better than us and only wants the best for everyone. She’s so good. Let her be good.”

“What about you?”

Clapping Jiang Cheng on the cheek, Wei Ying said, “Yanli-jie is always good to me. She can spread it around a bit.”

“If the worst happens and you need someone to hide the bodies,” Jiang Cheng replied, ominous, “I saw Meng Yao hanging around earlier. I’m sure he’d help.”

Though Wei Ying was rather pleased to know that—any event that included the Jin family could only be made better with the application of Meng Yao’s snarky commentary—he had other things to do.

Like get himself drunk.

Before Jiang Cheng or Jiang Yanli could say anything else, he backed up and waved. “Have fun. Make good choices. Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.” He skipped backward a few more steps and almost ran into someone. “Sorry, sorry.” With a quick turn, he slipped between a throng of other partygoers and made his way to the bar.

Intending to find Meng Yao, he ordered two vodka tonics from a very pretty bartender who very prettily smiled at him. The tonic, he was assured, was artisanal quality, flavored with rhubarb and certain to appeal to everyone. Wei Ying wasn’t sure what was wrong with good, old-fashioned quinine, but he supposed he could leave himself in the capable hands of a handsome young man as long as the booze was there.

It was all well and good, he thought, taking a sip as he tried to determine where Meng Yao might be found, to order a drink that was a pale pink in color when one knew how to keep one’s hands on it. It was another thing entirely to do so and then run into a solid wall of flesh.

A solid wall of familiar, beautiful, unwanted flesh.

Lan Zhan! Fuck. Fuck. Fuckfuckfuck. “Lan Zhan!”

This pale pink drink was now that unwanted flesh’s problem. That flesh that belonged to Lan Zhan. The Lan Zhan. His Lan Zhan.

No, not his Lan Zhan.

More specifically, it was Lan Zhan’s delicate white shirt’s problem, a gauzy, lacy thing that peeked out only a little from a long, asymmetrical shawl. It looked chic whatever it was, soft yet interesting in its texture, the drape beautiful, and now it was going to be stained pink along with at least some of the white of his trousers.

He was. Just. So pretty. Ethereally elegant. Wei Ying would die, consumed from the inside out by the sudden spark of arousal within him. He’d forgotten somewhere along the way what it was like to feel this way about another person. It was like no time had passed at all. His body remembered everything.

Lan Zhan didn’t move, didn’t make a sound, and Wei Ying did what he always did: took advantage without thinking. Grabbing the pin that held his shawl in place—purple, delicate, lovely, a nod to the theme—he pulled the entire thing from his shoulders.

The shirt. The shirt, the shirt. It. Didn’t have any arms on it. No, that was Lan Zhan’s body on display, all warm, toned skin, a little sun-kissed, like he still ran every day in the tight-fitting tank tops he favored. It was mostly clean at least, only a few spatters along the hem, protected almost entirely by the shawl, the brave thing. And still Lan Zhan did nothing, only stared, only—his chest rose and fell quickly and of course this would happen here and now, while the world around them stared, a few people nearby murmuring and chuckling.

Lan Zhan’s eyes were wide. His mouth fell open slightly.

Placing both glasses on the ground, Wei Ying yanked off his jacket and tried to give it to Lan Zhan while juggling the shawl, too. Lan Zhan’s bare arms shouldn’t be seen in public. It was obscene, like seeing someone else fully nude and vulnerable. “Lan Zhan, I’m so sorry—I didn’t—”

Lan Zhan finally moved, as though forcing himself through molasses, and took the shawl back—of course he wouldn’t want anything of Wei Ying’s, of course not—and snagged it on the second try. “It was my fault,” he said, voice awkward and small, not at all like the Lan Zhan he’d known, who was always composed. “I saw you coming. I just…”

“I should have been looking. You probably didn’t have time to react. I’ll—I can pay to replace the shawl—” If it was even replaceable. It might not be. “I know some good dry cleaners, too.”

“Wei Ying,” Lan Zhan said, voice still so off. “It’s okay.”

He should have been glad that Lan Zhan was taking it so well. All he could do in turn was despair. “It’s not.”

Lan Zhan inspected the shawl and then flipped it as he draped it again around his shoulders. “Pin, please.”

“What?”

“The pin.”

The pin. “Oh. The pin.” He held out his hand, the piece cupped in his palm. Neither of them moved until Wei Ying finally plucked it up between two fingers. Lan Zhan then pinched it between his own, avoiding touching Wei Ying at all costs.

Of course. That was—right, yeah. Of course.

Wei Ying grabbed up the glasses, drained the one that he hadn’t spilled all over Lan Zhan and, using all of his strength to not run in the opposite direction, said, “Let me know what the cleaning bill ends up being.”

He’d even been warned and still this was a nightmare.

He hadn’t seen Lan Zhan in something like thirteen years—he knew exactly how long, but he wasn’t going to admit that, not even inside his own head—thirteen whole years and the first thing he did was inconvenience Lan Zhan, potentially ruin a beautiful piece of clothing, and couldn’t even make his brain run at its usual speeds to apologize correctly.

Nausea crawled around in his guts and threatened to make a further embarrassment of him all over Lan Zhan’s shoes. A cold sweat broke out across the back of his neck. These too tight clothes were suddenly beyond restricting to him. As he awkwardly loosened his collar with one glass-filled hand, his collar clips fell to the floor.

Lan Zhan, kind, beautiful, wonderful Lan Zhan, tried to bend down to retrieve them, but Wei Ying… he couldn’t. He couldn’t let Lan Zhan do anything for him, not even something as small as this. “It was—” Scooping up the clips by the chain, metal cool in his palm, he backed up, juggling too many things in his hands. “It was good to see you.” Let’s hope it never happens again. “Find, find me about the bill.”

Please don’t.

“Wei—”

“Sorry, really I have to—” And fuck, his luck could only be so bad, because suddenly he was seeing Meng Yao and it was, for the first and only time, like a gift bestowed upon him by heaven. Thank god. “Meng Yao!” His voice was loud enough to turn several heads, including Meng Yao’s. “Ah, there you are. Bye, Lan Zhan!”

Fuck. Imbecilic. That was so stupid.

When he reached Meng Yao’s side, he yanked him around and back toward the bar. “Who was—?” Meng Yao asked, craning his neck around.

“Don’t look.” Except Wei Ying looked, caught Lan Zhan’s eye because Lan Zhan was still looking at him. What the fuck? Heat flared in his cheeks. “Don’t ask.”

Wei Ying snuck one more look.

And Lan Zhan? He was a statue placed in the center of this event, beautiful, unmovable, impossible not to stare at.

Wei Ying couldn’t look away, but he very much had to if he wanted to get through the rest of the night.

Lan Zhan blinked. And blinked again. Opened his mouth—to do what? Call after Wei Ying? No, he couldn’t do that, not when Wei Ying couldn’t get away from him quickly enough.

The last thing he expected to encounter here surely should have been the first thing he considered. Wei Ying modeled for YZY, in a current campaign even? Why wouldn’t he have been invited?

How was he even supposed to stay here knowing that Wei Ying was here, too? How was he supposed to chase after Yu Ziyuan when the only person he wanted to follow was Wei Ying?

Wei Ying was here.

Lan Zhan’s heart could only contain so much before it threatened to burst. Convincing himself to actually show his face already took so much out of him. His fingers had shaken when he dressed. His palms were still clammy from when he’d handed over the invitation at the door. His pulse bounded, quick and light, from even thinking about trying to find Yu Ziyuan. He still didn’t know what he intended to do with regard to her.

And now his head swam and his heart threatened to rip a hole in his chest.

Because Wei Ying was here and he could still be kind to Lan Zhan. He could give Lan Zhan an in with him, a chance that he would never take, but treasured all the same. Assuming the stain could be removed—he would do his best—he didn’t dare ask Wei Ying for assistance with it, but it meant something that Wei Ying offered. He would not bother Wei Ying again no matter how much he wanted to. It was a strange, sad sort of luck that had them running into one another when their paths hadn’t crossed in years. Lan Zhan couldn’t take advantage.

And anyway, it truly was his fault. He had noticed Wei Ying first and didn’t—couldn’t—get out of the way or warn him. Just the sight of him paralyzed Lan Zhan, rooted him to the spot. He saw the collision coming and couldn’t stop it. More to the point, he couldn’t say now that he wanted to avoid it at all. Even if his voice hadn’t failed him, he wasn’t sure he would have said anything. If his feet could have magically allowed him to step out of the way, he wasn’t sure he would have done that either.

Wei Ying pushed the man he’d called Meng Yao through the crowd to the bar and Lan Zhan, transfixed, watched them both down shots. Even from here, Lan Zhan saw the line of Wei Ying’s throat work around the drink, Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallowed. He slapped the table and laughed at something Meng Yao said. Though he couldn’t truly hear it through the low din of the other attendees, that laugh struck a blow and threatened to kneecap him.

He took one unsteady step back and then another and—

“Lan Zhan,” Jiang Yanli said in that kind voice of hers from behind him. Though it was, indeed, kind, a hint of steel coated it, as though she knew the shape of Lan Zhan’s thoughts. “You made it.”

He faced her, though it was the last thing he wanted at this moment. If he looked away from Wei Ying, he worried it would be the last time they ever saw one another, like now that they’d met again, he would melt into mist forever. Funny that this should be a concern when he’d already weathered thirteen years of that very reality. He greeted her with a slight inclination of his head. “I find myself surprised to have received an invitation.” Now that he saw her, he realized what must have happened. “Thank you for your thoughtfulness.”

“I believe in your original vision,” she said. “I merely hoped to facilitate the realization of it.”

Though Jiang Yanli was saying things he never hoped to hear, he couldn’t—he turned again, distracted, anything for one more glimpse of Wei Ying, but Wei Ying was gone, just as Lan Zhan feared. As kind as Jiang Yanli was, as principled, he didn’t see anything of his original vision in the people who surrounded him here.

The loss of Wei Ying was the price he’d always have to pay to reap the fruit of his ambitions. He couldn’t dilute it with this half-measure. Seeing Wei Ying solidified that. If he could not accept his brother’s help, he could not take Jiang Yanli’s either.

“Thank you for the consideration and the effort you went through on my behalf,” he said. She’d no doubt risked her mother’s wrath even arranging for this opportunity. And all for nothing.

“There’s no need for that. Come, I’ll bring you to—”

“That is unnecessary. I made a mistake in even coming here tonight. I’ll see myself out.”

Perhaps his brother was right about Nie Huaisang’s idea. The least he could do was hear him out.

Lan Zhan avoided attending photo shoots whenever possible, only attending when some executive or creative decided to show off to him once he’d won a brief for Cloud Recesses. He didn’t have to attend any more, thankfully, and never before considered springing for his own. Inevitably, they annoyed him and made him anxious. The noise, the motion. None of it on its own was especially overwhelming, but the whole of it in this context aggravated something very specific inside of him.

Maybe it was the way the photographers tended to bark commands at the people around him, especially the model, who had to just stand or sit or pose in the way required of them, like trained dogs or puppets. Or maybe it was the way people seemed to scuttle about, crablike and hunched, like they weren’t really humans.

He didn’t know and didn’t really care to analyze it too closely. Needless to say, as soon as he was let on the set—Nie Huaisang had delivered on his promise to put him on the list apparently because security was ready when he arrived precisely when agreed upon—he was ready to leave, even though one of the PAs was kind enough to page Nie Huaisang for him. “It’s a little quicker than calling or messaging,” she explained as she guided him toward the corner of the room where he’d cause the least amount of distraction. “Thanks for arriving on time. Sometimes people come early thinking they’re being polite, but…”

But in some cases, that was almost worse than running late. Too bad he’d just been too nervous to come in. “I understand.”

She smiled distractedly, head tilting slightly as she listened to something over her headset. “Okay, he’s heading over. Is there anything I can get you? Tea, water, juice? Snacks?”

Lan Zhan shook his head. “Thank you, no.”

“Okay.” She breathed deeply and scanned the room, stopping when she spotted Nie Huaisang. “And I’ll turn you over to Mister Nie’s care.”

“I didn’t realize my brother was here,” Nie Huaisang said, teasing, “I swear I just heard you refer to someone as Mister Nie. Didn’t we all agree I’d be warned if he showed up?” His lips turned up in a sly smile, one he tried to share with Lan Zhan, like somewhere along the way he’d forgotten that Lan Zhan didn’t have a sense of humor and, if he did, he didn’t share it with Nie Huaisang. “I’m certainly not him.”

The PA rolled her eyes. “Is there anything we are allowed to call you, boss?”

“You can call me Sangsang for all I care,” he answered breezily. “Just drop this mister nonsense.”

Turning toward Lan Zhan one more time, the PA inclined her head. “Then I’ll leave you in Nie Huaisang’s perfectly capable hands. If there’s anything you need, he knows where to find me.”

“That’s what I like to hear,” he replied. Once she’d stepped away, a little of the cheerful demeanor he’d adopted dropped away. Lan Zhan wouldn’t go quite so far as to say Nie Huaisang fronted for others—it was nothing quite as organized as that—but he did tend to swap masks when he spoke with people, exaggerating aspects of his personality for his audience. Lan Huan trusted him enough to have suggested this, but it made him a headache to know on any real level and even after years of acquaintance, Lan Zhan still didn’t have the best grasp on his character.

It was why he tried to stay away despite the fact that it would have been easy to find himself in Nie Huaisang’s company if he wasn’t careful. His brother and Nie Huaisang’s brother were close and there were frequent collaborations between Cloud Recesses and Nie Mingjue’s company, Unclean Realms. Lan Zhan was rarely called in on their briefs and never pitched of his own volition. Their chosen aesthetic and Lan Zhan’s sensibilities never matched. It was a courtesy on both sides that they stayed away from one another. Even as an intellectual exercise, he didn’t like to get involved, though Nie Mingjue was known to be willing to take the sort of risks Lan Zhan wished he could and that sometimes filled Lan Zhan with envy. If he wasn’t careful, all that professional distance would fall apart in his hands.

The point, he supposed, if there even was one, was: he didn’t trust Nie Huaisang, but he didn’t have any reason not to; he didn’t distrust Nie Huaisang, but he didn’t have any reason not to do that either. It made it disconcerting to be around him.

Under different circumstances, they might have been friends; of everyone he knew, Nie Huaisang did have the most interesting taste.

“Lan Zhan, it’s good to see you,” Nie Huaisang said, going through none of the mental gymnastics Lan Zhan was currently engaging in. “Your brother made it seem like you were entirely disinterested in my proposal. I must say, I was surprised to hear from you.” He jerked his head toward a nearby door. “It’s a little loud and chummy out here. Why don’t we go somewhere more private? I’m sure there are already people out there wondering what brought you over and there’s no reason to give them more fuel to gossip about. Don’t worry though, everyone signed NDAs for this one. Nothing that happens on this set can leak without risking a visit from the lawyers. Still, having a group of people see you having a friendly conversation with me is more useful than just meeting privately at home, wouldn’t you say? Appearances are so important.”

Assuming that was actually the reason why Nie Huaisang chose here to meet, it would be surprisingly thoughtful. However… “You said you were too busy to meet privately.”

“Mmhmm! That’s also true. Two birds, one stone.” He bowed his head slightly. “Thank you for indulging me.”

They found their way to a hastily set up office, dusty and haphazardly organized, sheets of paper scattered across the surface of a dinged up desk. Nie Huaisang hopped up onto the corner of it, wrinkling a few pages beneath his thigh. Lan Zhan wanted to tug them free and smooth them out, but he’d probably be in breach of some contract or other if he tried, so he kept his hands to himself, settling for shooting a glare at Nie Huaisang that was promptly and deftly ignored.

“So,” Nie Huaisang said. “You should want to improve your public profile. Unfortunately for you, or, well—” He drew in a breath. “Under normal circumstances, what you’re doing works very well. Exclusivity. Mystery. Yadda yadda. It’s great until you’re stuck with people mad at you and the only side of the story they’re getting is the other party’s. That’s when you’ve got yourself a problem.”

“I thought the problem was when I tanked a deal with YZY.”

Nie Huaisang shook his head. “No, no, no. She’s been in the business longer than we’ve been alive. You’re not the first or scariest person who’s screwed her over. You would’ve been fine after a few weeks. I mean, you wouldn’t have been given the time of day by Yu Ziyuan and maybe a few other brands, obviously, but you’d have picked yourself back up just fine. Besides, your niche is different enough that you don’t particularly need them to do what you want to do. But the brutality of the word of mouth?” He made a clicking sound with his teeth. “It would have helped for people to know you. Or the you you could have been projecting to the world all this time.”

“What do you suggest?”

Lan Zhan was expecting a cartoonish response involving a convoluted series of events which would require Lan Zhan to lose whatever shreds of his dignity remained to him. Instead, he only got a few words in exchange for the question, a simple answer to a complicated problem.

“A brand ambassador.”

His brother had mentioned advertising. Brand ambassadors… were a step even higher than that. If he didn’t want to spring for any sort of publicity already, he certainly didn’t want to do this. “No.”

“Oh, come on. Seriously. Find the right person to endorse, do some fun, unique things with them, make a true partnership. It would work. You’re a passionate person underneath all that minimalistic cold beauty of yours and your perfume is incredibly good. There are people out there who value that. You just have to reach them. Tell them about yourself instead of letting others tell them about you.”

“I don’t have the budget to afford someone to play pretend they care about my ‘brand.’” It wasn’t even a brand. This was his life they were talking about. To reduce it to a brand felt cheap.

But not cheap enough for the amount of money Lan Zhan could dedicate to it. Even if he wanted to do so, he knew his limits and they hit him in thin envelopes each and every month. Getting to his feet, he held out his hand. “I’m sorry to have wasted your time.” And mine, he tried not to think too bitterly.

Before Lan Zhan could reach the door, Nie Huaisang called out again. “Hire Wei Ying.”

Lan Zhan’s heart flopped turgidly before it started racing. A cold sweat broke out across the back of his neck. If Nie Huaisang’s purpose was to stop him in his tracks, he succeeded wildly.

Wei Ying. Why was Lan Zhan’s life suddenly so tied up in Wei Ying?

“Hire Wei Ying,” he repeated, far more serious than Lan Zhan had ever heard him before. “He is incredibly popular with the demographic who’d also enjoy your work, actually knows how to use social media to its advantages, and he’s reasonably affordable because nobody knows what to do with him. He’s also available currently, though I can’t guarantee how long that status will hold. And he just did a stint with Yu Ziyuan and the connection would perhaps make it look like there’s less bad blood between you than there is.”

Lan Zhan didn’t turn around and almost didn’t answer. “I can’t do that.”

“You can’t or you don’t want to? I was under the impression from Huan-ge that you were serious about avoiding getting your uncle involved. This is the best way that I can see. He’s a good investment. I know he probably seems flaky to you from way back—”

“He does not.” The words were torn so viciously from his throat that he almost didn’t recognize them as his own.

“O…kay. So that’s good then. You already know you can trust him.”

“It isn’t my trust in him that’s the problem,” Lan Zhan said, still unable to face Nie Huaisang now that he’s invoked Wei Ying, Wei Ying who’d nearly destroyed him from a billboard. How was he supposed to face him in person again? Work with him? He couldn’t do that, could he? He’d seen Wei Ying’s face when they met. Wei Ying didn’t deserve to be put through it assuming he would even say yes.

“Listen.” There was a rustling noise as Nie Huaisang stood up. “You’re right that it would be exorbitantly costly to hire someone to do this, but it’s the right call. If you’re going to do it, he’s your best bet. I don’t see anything else working. Wei Ying’s the right person for this. You could pay the hottest person in China ten times as much and get a return a hundred times worse. Do you want to be forced to go back to your uncle knowing you haven’t tried or are you willing to swallow your pride for this thing you love so much?”

Lan Zhan said nothing.

“The things I know about you are legion, Lan Zhan. You’ve thrown away a lot for Gentian House. Don’t throw away more because you don’t know how to retrench. Sometimes, you have to take risks. I know you know how.”

This was blatant manipulation and the worst part was: it worked. He was sick to his stomach thinking how badly everything had gone wrong, how quickly it was all falling apart around him, how precarious the life he’d built for himself truly was. He’d never factored in the possibility of making such a small, far-reaching mistake. Who could have known Lan Zhan could do such a thing as this? Lan Zhan certainly didn’t.

“Why do you care?”

“I don’t, but your brother does and that means my brother does and I’d like to help you for them.”

Ah, of course. Because who would want to help him for no reason except his own brother who couldn’t do anything but farm that help out? “Have you spoken with Wei Ying?”

“Not yet.”

Lan Zhan closed his eyes, swallowed, drew in a deep breath to still his mind, which raced away regardless. How could he ask this of Wei Ying? But how could he not? “He won’t say yes.”

“That’s for me to figure out.”

“You will not force him.”

“Wei Ying does what Wei Ying wants to do. You don’t have to worry about that.”

It wasn’t right to put this on Wei Ying’s shoulders, but he wanted—a part of him wanted the thrill of seeing him again. That was his weakness. “Ask him. If he says yes, allow him to set the contract terms. Do not under any circumstances try to manipulate him the way you’ve done to me. If he says no, don’t pressure him.”

“Okay,” Nie Huaisang agreed, still serious, somber. Against his better judgment or maybe because he was simply desperate, Lan Zhan believed him.

It wasn’t every day that Wei Ying stepped out of the elevator in time to see Nie Huaisang waiting for him in the lobby of his apartment building, but given his new habit of running into old… friends, he supposed this was just his life now. Maybe he’d heard about what happened at the partnership launch between Yu Ziyuan and Jin Zixuan and wanted dirt.

Wei Ying hoped not. The only dirt on offer for once was Wei Ying’s life and that wasn’t something he was inclined to share.

“This better be good,” he warned, because he was under caffeinated and hadn’t really slept since seeing Lan Zhan and it was starting to get to him, an itch under his skin. “Long time, no see by the way.”

Nie Huaisang just smiled that sly smile of his, gestured toward the door, and said, “Let me spring for breakfast. We’ll have a nice chat.”

As he stepped out from under the large eaves of his building, he squinted and shoved his sunglasses on. With habitual ease, he pulled his mask over his mouth from where it had been hanging from one ear. It was weird how comforting it had become. There was a time when he’d spurned them, thinking he would never reach a point where he might need or want one, thinking it was cowardice to hide behind them, believing that nobody would truly care what he did or where he went.

He couldn’t imagine how the truly big name models, artists, and actors did it. His profile was about as high as he was interested in seeing it become.

Nie Huaisang brought him to his car, a nice, nondescript little number that would have looked almost normal if not for the driver relaxing against the passenger’s side door, playing with his phone as he waited for them to approach.

“Not even going to open the door for me, huh, Zonghui-ge?”

“Not even once, didi. I know what you’re capable of, but your brother’s still scarier than you.” He did offer an indulgent smile, though, one that Nie Huaisang returned. “And he said not to spoil you.”

“At least you drive me around so I don’t have to,” Nie Huaisang admitted. “Nie Zonghui, this is Wei Ying. Wei Ying, this is my indubitably wonderful cousin, Nie Zonghui. Ge, don’t be too nice to this one.”

Though Nie Zonghui arched an eyebrow in recognition, he didn’t get all weird the way people sometimes did about such things.

Before Wei Ying could offer more than a hello, Nie Huaisang pushed him into the back of the car and piled in next to him. He then gave Nie Zonghui an address in the part of town that Wei Ying did his level best to stay away from. There were too many industry people who haunted the bars, restaurants, and coffee shops, which meant it was guaranteed to annoy Wei Ying, but it made sense, too. The closer to the center of power, as it were, the less attention he’d draw. It would have looked like they were hiding something if they went somewhere closer to home for Wei Ying.

On the other hand, the chances of running into someone who would care were also higher.

If it were anyone else, Wei Ying wouldn’t overthink it, but with Nie Huaisang, there was always another angle. Catching up would come with a price tag.

Damned if you did, damned if you didn’t. That was the way of things. Apparently Nie Huaisang thought the risk was worth it.

If nothing else, Wei Ying was willing to trust that Nie Huaisang wouldn’t do anything too damaging to his own reputation, which meant it probably couldn’t be too damaging to Wei Ying’s. Maybe.

He hated, hated even thinking in those terms, but the older he got, the more he realized it was important to build a reputation that would make things just that littlest bit easier in the world, if not for yourself, then for the people around you. Toeing the party line wasn’t really his style, but it worked. Within reason. He had people to care for after all.

Once they were seated and had ordered, Wei Ying decided it was time to pull the plug on this pageantry. “Okay, what the hell, Huaisang?”

“I did always appreciate your candor and directness,” he replied. “I’ll get straight to the point then.” Just as Wei Ying took a sip of water, he did exactly fucking that. “Lan Zhan wants to hire you as a brand ambassador for Gentian House.”

Wei Ying did not spit take at least, but he did nearly drown himself as he swallowed wrong and choked. When he finally got that under control, but of course only after alerting at least three nearby tables, he asked, “What?”

“You heard me.”

“I heard Lan Zhan wanted something from me,” Wei Ying replied, “which is how I know I heard wrong. What did you do, Huaisang?”

Nie Huaisang raised his hands in a defensive gesture and shook his head. “I presented an opportunity to him and he said yes. The terms would be favorable to you. I figured it would be a win for everyone.”

“How is this a win for me?” Wei Ying leaned almost entirely across the table, smacked Nie Huaisang across the chest. “Seriously.”

“You did kind of piss Yu Ziyuan off,” Nie Huaisang said, “with your own little stunt. Walking out on the photographer. You know how much she hates smoothing ruffled egos.”

“How is that different than usual? He made me bite the watch, Huaisang. You don’t see my teeth on display in that ad, do you? I was right.” Besides, Yu Ziyuan already reprimanded him at the launch. It was water under the bridge now.

Nie Huaisang shrugged, disinterested in Wei Ying’s very real plight. “I just thought you might sympathize…”

I’ve seen him, Wei Ying thought, despairing. I’ve seen him and ruined his fucking shawl. “When did you get in the business of brokering contract agreements? Why are you even bothering Lan Zhan?”

“Wei Ying, I know models don’t always like to hear this, but not everything is about them. In fact, this is very much about me and generating enough goodwill with my brother to set myself up for at least a month’s worth of future Fashion Week shenanigans. Me doing this helps Lan Zhan, which helps his brother, which helps my brother, which helps me, yes? The point is you can help him and you can help me. Help me, please. Help him.”

“This just doesn’t seem at all plausible or likely.” There was no possible way Lan Zhan wanted this.

“He told me to ask you and he said that you get to set terms and that I shouldn’t manipulate you into doing it.”

“This isn’t you manipulating me?”

“No. If I was, I’d have led with just how fucked Lan Zhan is if you don’t do this.”

Wei Ying was losing control of his conversation, the situation, and his life all at once. This was not the reality he’d gone to sleep in. Surely he’d woken up in some parallel universe where he and Lan Zhan weren’t nothing to one another, because in the real world, this would never happen.

Wei Ying’s stomach dropped. For a moment, all he could do was stare at the table between them. In fact, now that he thought about it… if he wasn’t desperate, why had he even shown his face at Yu Ziyuan’s event after having walked out on a meeting with her?

Scrubbing his hand over his face, he thought very hard about what he was about to agree to and what it would mean. “He really told you to ask me?”

“He did.”

“Did he want my help or did you twist his arm?”

“I didn’t sugarcoat it for him. I could give you the same spiel, but you appeal to the right demographic, you’re that weird sort of hot that nobody really wants to pay for even though they do, you’re charming as hell when you want to be. Your fans are loyal. What’s not to love?”

“Wow. ‘Weird sort of hot,’ really? Did you say that to Lan Zhan specifically or did you save your best effort for me?” The waiter arrived with their meals. Bowls and plates were set before them quickly and efficiently, giving Wei Ying a chance to wrap his head around what was being asked of him. In his life, he never expected to see Lan Zhan again anyway and here Nie Huaisang was giving him the chance at a another second try on a silver platter.

In truth, it wasn’t at all how he imagined it might happen. Not that he’d expected it to happen. Of course not. But if it was going to happen, it was bound to be at some event or other, like the first time they saw one another again. Except Wei Ying would have been prepared. Wei Ying would have ensured he had a sufficiently impressive date, someone he was happy with, whom he loved—

Yeah, he didn’t know any person like that either, but this was a fantasy, not the real world.

—and whom, more importantly, loved him. Anyway, he’d be with them at this party or something and Lan Zhan would be there, too, and they’d run into one another and Lan Zhan would be as beautiful as ever, dressed as he always was in the chic, effortless lines he favored: long tunics and wide-legged, flowing trousers, monochrome, of course, except for a few elegant touches. A belt perhaps, looped several times around his slim hips, silver, sparkling, a tempting target for Wei Ying to tug at, maybe pull Lan Zhan around and tease him a bit. Except he wouldn’t, they’d just… cross paths at the bar or something. And Wei Ying would comport himself with as much dignity as he could muster as they exchanged cordial words and maybe Lan Zhan would apologize or maybe he wouldn’t, but he’d be the one who reached for Wei Ying and Wei Ying was the one who’d turn away, who’d say no, who’d disappoint Lan Zhan in the end. It would be very melancholic and very romantic and it would shift some of the regret back onto Lan Zhan’s shoulders, where it belonged.

It was, he knew, a stupid, vindictive fantasy and almost too sad to indulge because he didn’t want Lan Zhan to hurt over what happened between them, not really. Acknowledgment that it had hurt Wei Ying, maybe. That might have been nice.

It also wasn’t remotely what would ever have happened. No, running into Lan Zhan literally was the best he should have expected. Helping Lan Zhan save his business allowed for some heroism at least. Maybe he could get some peace of mind, too. It was intriguing, melancholic and romantic in a different way.

The thing about breaking up, Wei Ying always thought, was that they should be clean breaks. That seemed ideal. But sometimes breaks could be too clean.

Even this far along, sometimes Wei Ying forgot anything was broken at all.

There were still mornings sometimes when he rolled over and expected Lan Zhan to be there.

What he dreamed about, he thought, was closure. Actual closure. Not what he’d wound up with. Maybe a conversation. That was what this stupid fantasy was about. Having a conversation. Lan Zhan seeing Wei Ying had moved on.

He shook his head. Even if he took this job, he wouldn’t get that. Being a professional would preclude him ever bringing up their past.

The truth was he never really got a chance to say goodbye to Lan Zhan. That damned break. It was so clean, but it didn’t heal right anyway. He opened his mouth to accept and then snapped his jaw shut on his agreement. Nie Huaisang looked at him curiously and then he was prepared to speak again. “I’ll have to think about this, Huaisang. I can’t just…”

Nie Huaisang nodded and waved his hand, stabbing the air with his chopsticks. “I understand. If you really don’t want to do it, Lan Zhan won’t hold it against you, I’m sure. It was just a thought.”

Wei Ying narrowed his eyes, searching for Nie Huaisang’s angle, but he was already focusing on his meal, head bent. Wei Ying had so many questions, but there was only one that mattered to him.

“How is he? How is he really doing?”

Nie Huaisang lifted his head, blinked, didn’t say anything for a long moment as he mulled over his words. “Wei Ying, he’s defeated. How do you think he’s doing?”

Right. Of course Lan Zhan wouldn’t have agreed to this if circumstances weren’t dire. Wei Ying swallowed and tried to eat some of the food before him, none of it palatable, none of it at all enjoyable. He couldn’t feel bad about Lan Zhan only seeing him as a last-ditch effort to fix his problem when Lan Zhan wouldn’t have seen him as anything at all otherwise.

It still didn’t feel good.

“Huaisang?” he said, hesitant, undoing his earlier entirely reasonable decision to think it through.

Nie Huaisang was already in his own world again, poking at his phone and food in turn. “Hmm?”

“I’ll do it.”

The coffee shop Nie Huaisang chose—it’ll keep this casual, Lan Zhan, you don’t want to make things more awkward, do you, this is already going to be painful and we both know it—was way too small by Lan Zhan’s reckoning, loud and crowded with people. It only grew more so as he waited for both Wei Ying and Nie Huaisang to arrive. As soon as Nie Huaisang called with the ‘good’ ‘news,’ Lan Zhan was already regretting it and he still regretted it now as his fingers tapped the underside of the table to stop himself from checking his—he couldn’t help imagining Wei Ying’s teeth and smile, within kissing distance of his wrist—watch.

All he had to do was sign and then he could leave. Easy. The hard part was already over. His lawyer had already combed through it and given her seal of approval to it. Lan Zhan, sight unseen, agreed on that basis and here he was.

Waiting.

He’d bought an indifferent cup of tea as soon as he’d arrived that sat, forgotten, at his elbow, already cooling. He considered buying coffee for both Nie Huaisang and Wei Ying, but he didn’t know either of their preferences, though he’d considered himself something of an expert in Wei Ying’s once. As soon as it occurred to him, he realized how presumptuous it was and resumed waiting.

It didn’t matter anyway. Only a few minutes later, they both walked through the door.

Wei Ying stunned as he always did. It was never about the clothes he wore. Instead, it was something that shone through his entire being regardless of how he dressed, though that was also impressive enough. Wei Ying dealt in structure, sharp lines. The black jacket he wore broadened his shoulders, the wide neck of his white shirt delineated his collarbone perfectly. Classic, cool. Unassuming dark wash jeans tightly wrapped around his legs led the eye down to a pair of red leather brogues, unexpected. His hair was pulled up into a little ponytail, only a few wispy hairs framing his face. It was longer than Lan Zhan remembered. Lan Zhan wanted to run his fingers through it.

Lan Zhan wanted to apologize for everything, even though it was years in the past.

His gaze followed Wei Ying’s progress toward the counter. Tension twisted within him and yanked, stretching until it was taut. Wei Ying didn’t look his way even once, nor did Nie Huaisang, not until they’d ordered. It was as though—no, surely it was, no qualifier required—Wei Ying wanted to avoid him.

This was a bad idea.

He started to push himself to his feet when Nie Huaisang raised his hand and gestured for him to sit back down. It was only then that Wei Ying turned to look at him.

Though he expected a repeat of before, that startled fear and nervousness from their unexpected run in, what he got instead was a sort of resigned tentativeness that didn’t suit Wei Ying at all. By the time they approached, drinks in hand, Lan Zhan could barely bite back, “Did Nie Huaisang put you up to this?”

Wei Ying flinched slightly before taking the seat across from Lan Zhan, pulling the chair as far away from the table as he could reasonably bring it while remaining at the table. “What?”

Lan Zhan huffed.

Nie Huaisang pouted, but took the seat next to Wei Ying’s. “He wants to make sure I didn’t bully you into doing this.”

Wei Ying’s brow furrowed and he stared down into his cup for a short time before answering. “He didn’t. I’d like to help.”

The way he said it, devoid of the usual emotion Lan Zhan associated with him, did nothing to assuage him, but then Wei Ying lifted his eyes. His gaze was clear and certain even if his body language suggested he wanted to get out of this as quickly as possible. Even after having not seen one another for so long, he felt he could trust that clarity.

After a beat, Nie Huaisang took over.

“Okay, so.” Nie Huaisang clapped his hands together and smiled in a way that Lan Zhan found troubling. Wei Ying was back to staring down at his hands, too busy to notice, fiddling his fingers and clenching them into a fist. Meanwhile, Nie Huaisang passed one folder to Wei Ying and then one to Lan Zhan. “Here’s a copy of the contract both of your lawyers agreed upon.”

“I know,” Lan Zhan said. “I’ll sign it as is.”

Wei Ying looked up, only glancing Lan Zhan’s way for a scant second before shifting his attention to Nie Huaisang. They exchanged a brief look and then Wei Ying shook his head, said sharply, “No.”

The quick way Wei Ying said that pinged something within Lan Zhan. He couldn’t read Wei Ying perfectly anymore, but he’d have to be a complete stranger not to hear the determination that saturated his voice.

“One moment, please,” he said, opening the folder to read, embarrassed now that he hadn’t done so. It wasn’t even an accident or oversight. He’d just trusted Nie Huaisang to do as he asked, but something niggled at him now.

His lawyer had been particularly quick to okay the contract. He read through the details, most of them were as he and Nie Huaisang had discussed. He’d even included the one request Lan Zhan had made in this whole thing. Briefly, he noticed that Wei Ying wasn’t reading it.

Groaning, Nie Huaisang scrubbed his hand across his face. “By all means, read it. Maybe Wei Ying will do the same.”

Wei Ying did not move.

Nothing seemed amiss until he reached the section about remuneration. This was… “There’s a mis—”

“I’m clear on the contract,” Wei Ying said, “but I can’t sign it.”

Lan Zhan’s heart clenched. Being doused in ice water might have been less startling to him. He couldn’t speak out, though, fearful for the way his voice might tremble. Even though Lan Zhan had one very large—or, in this case, small—misgiving, it was another thing if Wei Ying was having them, too.

“An event, photoshoots, that’s fine with me. I’ll throw five hundred little videos onto the internet, easy,” Wei Ying went on, breezy, more prepared for this meeting than Lan Zhan. “I’ve done it a million times.”

That was three of the four expected duties handled according to Lan Zhan’s reading of this.

“But isn’t the perfume a little cheap?” Wei Ying said this as though it wasn’t Lan Zhan’s life he was talking about. “I mean, nobody likes celebrity tie-ins, right? Certainly not the people you’re trying to court.” Though Wei Ying addressed him, he looked at Nie Huaisang instead. “You get looked down on by serious people with serious taste.”

“Wei Ying,” Nie Huaisang said. “Not to put a damper on your self-esteem, but I wouldn’t call you a celebrity. This is, I don’t know, think of it like Tilda Swinton with Etat Libre d’Orange—”

“Tilda Swinton is a celebrity,” Wei Ying pointed out. “But hey, isn’t that—?” He finally looked at Lan Zhan again, wanting confirmation from him.

“Yes,” he replied, dutiful, cutting himself on the shard of an old, old memory. “The same.”

Wei Ying ducked his head and smiled, rueful, turned the conversation back to its original point—or somewhere in the vicinity. “So what you’re saying is I’m on the same level as Tilda Swinton.”

“What I’m saying is unusual collaborations can yield interesting results,” Nie Huaisang replied. “I honestly believe it could be a successful match. It’ll bring curiosity to Gentian House and Lan Zhan’s work can take it from there.”

“Yeah, well,” Wei Ying said, authoritative, a little snotty. “This requires Lan Zhan wanting that sort of partnership, which, ha, why would he?”

Nie Huaisang’s mouth twisted, dramatic, ready to spill, but Lan Zhan chose to beat him to the reveal. “It was my idea.”

It might have been comical to see the double take Wei Ying did under normal circumstances, but Lan Zhan was at the end of his endurance already and it just—hurt. To see Wei Ying so startled by the possibility that Lan Zhan might want something like that with him. He didn’t miss the fact that he didn’t say he didn’t want to. He just… assumed Lan Zhan wouldn’t.

It didn’t mean anything, but it didn’t not mean anything either.

The truth was it had scared him when he’d hammered out that particular detail with Nie Huaisang, asking him all about brand ambassadorships and what might be an effective strategy. Doing such a thing, creating a perfume based around Wei Ying, was the most cost-effective potentially, but it was also—it was also the option that sang to Lan Zhan.

A perfume created specifically for Wei Ying—and in Lan Zhan’s mind, it already was for him, not just inspired by him—that was unique. Nie Huaisang had loved it. Lan Zhan, trepidatious, had loved it, too, as soon as it came to mind.

Wei Ying clearly did not. “It can be stricken,” Lan Zhan said, “if you don’t wish to participate in such a thing.”

“Participate?”

“It would be a partnership.”

Something cataclysmic changed within Wei Ying’s expression, deep, an earthquake that couldn’t be measured on the Richter scale, but happened nonetheless, shifted something on a geologic scale. “Lan Zhan…?”

“I will not try to pressure you,” Lan Zhan replied. This was somehow so much worse than seeing Wei Ying again for the first time. This felt so consequential. That… that had felt like an accident.

Blinking, Wei Ying stared down at his copy of the contract, fingers running distractedly over the pages. Lan Zhan wanted to tell him to stop in case he got a papercut. “If that’s what you want,” he finally replied, “then I’ll help you however I can.”

Why, Lan Zhan couldn’t bring himself to ask. Why would you do this?

“Great!” Nie Huaisang said, quick, before anyone could change their mind. Clapping his hands together, he grinned. “That’s settled. Last thing, time commitment.”

“You have me for three weeks,” Wei Ying said. “Barring a handful of days I’ve already been booked in the next few weeks. I’m locked into a contract. If we don’t get this done, I’m not back for three months.”

“That’s fine.” He could… they could do all of these things in that time, sure. Lan Zhan didn’t know a thing about arranging photoshoots or events, but he could learn. He swallowed. He could learn quickly.

He could also create a formula between doing those things. No problem.

Wei Ying searched Lan Zhan’s face. “Are you sure you can put up with me for that long?”

“I could ask you that question,” Lan Zhan answered. If he was hoping for Wei Ying to say something, to maybe argue or tease, he was to be disappointed, because Wei Ying just went back to staring down at the contract and then gave Nie Huaisang the okay with a nod.

Nie Huaisang helped them lay out plans and schedules, shared calendars and by the end of it, Lan Zhan was feeling… relieved.

But only for a moment.

“We never addressed my concern,” Lan Zhan said.

Nie Huaisang’s gaze flicked heavenward. “And that is?”

Though it felt impossible, Lan Zhan openly looked at Wei Ying, drank the sight of him in. Though he wouldn’t meet Lan Zhan’s eyes, Lan Zhan could still say what needed to be said. “You’re undercutting yourself. This fee is…” He tried to find the words. If Wei Ying was going to do this, he deserved to be compensated, even though Lan Zhan could barely afford it. “…beneath your worth.”

Nothing happened for a long moment, just Wei Ying staring at Lan Zhan while his cheeks went pink and his mouth fell open. Then he laughed, eyes crinkling in disbelief, and he said, “Lan Zhan, be serious.”

Lan Zhan’s jaw clenched. “I am.” Admittedly, he didn’t know everything about modeling or Wei Ying’s contracts specifically, but Nie Huaisang had assured him the fee he’d ballparked was adequate. This was far, far less than that, fit too reasonably within Lan Zhan’s budget. “I can’t accept this number.”

He didn’t want Wei Ying’s pity, not for the stretch of so many months, not ever, especially not when he hadn’t done anything to earn Wei Ying’s kindness.

“What can you accept?” Wei Ying asked, heated curiosity underlying his tone. It wasn’t hostile, but it was aggravated ever so slightly. “Because it’s entirely fine with me.”

“Nobody revises their fee down,” Lan Zhan pointed out. He might not know about model contracts, but he knew this much. Everyone could do with more money, especially Wei Ying, who’d never shown all that much interest in keeping his. As much as Lan Zhan could use the buffer, he couldn’t accept it even when it was freely given. “Unless we cut some of the expectations here.” He didn’t want to lose the perfume, but if Wei Ying didn’t want it… “For example, the perfume and the event.”

“Then what’s the point? Lan Zhan—”

He couldn’t apologize, but he could do this much, even though annoyance was now flashing in Wei Ying’s gaze. Not so very unlike Lan Zhan, Wei Ying didn’t like being pushed into corners. His lawyer and his accountant was going to kill him, but: “That’s my offer.”

Wei Ying threw a flabbergasted look at Nie Huaisang, who shrugged uselessly in return. His job was to facilitate only, at least according to him.

“Lan Zhan…” But though he shook his head and sighed, he couldn’t say what they were all thinking: can you afford this? His expression set itself into something like determination. Flicking his hand, he then finished his drink. “Fine. Original fee, all the bells and whistles.” His mouth set in a frown. “Lan Zhan, you’re still as stubborn as you always were.”

In the past, Wei Ying might have said such a thing with fondness, but it was entirely devoid of anything except plain, bald fact, maybe vague discomfort. Lan Zhan tried not to mourn this fact, but he didn’t deserve any less than to feel entirely uncertain about this course of action.

But if he could only keep one shred of his dignity intact at the expense of the other, he’d prefer to ensure Wei Ying was appropriately compensated.

Now that the contract was signed, it was time for Wei Ying to pay up in the form of work. Under most circumstances, work didn’t bother him, but the first and easiest to accomplish was the photoshoot. In Wei Ying’s mind, it took on more significance and became The Photoshoot. It had to accomplish many things. He had to prove himself to be a worthwhile investment and he had to actually do a good job and he had to be what Lan Zhan needed when he needed it most.

It felt like Wei Ying was every egg and the only basket at Lan Zhan’s disposal. That feeling was a discomfiting one. He didn’t like being the guy people relied on. In fact, he was very bad at it. And here Lan Zhan was relying on him almost entirely.

As he lingered in the doorway of the car, he took in the outside the small studio that served as the shooting location—for once, early, as stress bore down on his shoulders—and tried to reconcile this truth to himself. His job was to make Lan Zhan look good and he just didn’t know if that was possible. It was a little late for such thoughts, but Wei Ying’s timing had never been great.

Wen Ning peered at him from the other side of the door, through the window. “Are you okay?”

Oh, he thought, I’m just fine. Just doing Lan Zhan’s first photoshoot ever. No big deal. There’s not anything riding on it or anything. “Sure, I’m good.” He smiled for good measure.

“It’s just… this is a loading zone? I shouldn’t really keep the car here long term. If you’re not ready to go in yet, we can drive around a little more? There’s still time.” His eyes lingered on Wei Ying’s hand where it was wrapped around the passenger’s door frame.

Right. Of course. Loading zone. Wen Ning couldn’t just stand here with him. Duh. Yes. “I should be done by three according to the call sheet.”

Given this was for Lan Zhan, he doubted it would run long. He just needed to actually get his ass in there.

That meant, uh, stepping into the building.

Which he did after only one more moment’s hesitation. “Thanks for driving me, Wen Ning!” he called from the entrance as the pair of security guards on either side ignored him entirely. Two whole security guards for this. What exactly would he find in there?

Wen Ning waved and retreated to the driver’s side of the car. With a final, reassuring smile, Wen Ning ducked inside.

Wei Ying was alone now.

Peering inside, curious, Wei Ying finally stepped across the threshold.

Strange, unexpected silence greeted him.

No headless chickens masquerading as PAs rushed around. Nobody was hammering at the set, making last minute adjustments. Not a single person within greeted him. Hell, until he neared the quaint little stage in the center of the room, humble and limited in scope, he might have pretended he was the only one here.

It was so different from the strung-out, high anxiety shoots where there were ten million people milling around and watching what was happening while doing very little of value. It was only once he poked his head around the stage’s wooden backdrop that he found who he was looking for. This was one photographer, a woman who quietly and efficiently took care of her own set up with only one PA in tow to assist as they checked lighting and moved the heavier pieces around the floor of the set until the photographer was satisfied.

She was calm and competent, soothing in a way that was similar to the way Lan Zhan could be.

He’d half lifted his hand when he heard a clicking noise behind him, someone clucking their tongue maybe.

“Ah, you’re here,” a man said, gesturing him over to the area set aside for styling which consisted of an area that was legitimately marked off with a privacy screen. Once Wei Ying approached, he launched right in. As calm and efficient as the photographer, he handed over an outfit that was soft and flowing and perfectly fit his frame, as though it had been created just for him. With only a handful of stitches applied in strategic places, he was dressed.

He asked Wei Ying cordial questions about his day, whether he’d been to the coffee shop down the street, if he’d seen the new Jin Zixuan collection and what he thought about it if he did. It was all very startlingly, pleasantly normal, real people normal, not even industry normal.

“It’s exciting getting to be involved in a shoot for Gentian House,” the stylist said as he finished working Wei Ying’s hair into the soft, wispy coif he was looking for, somehow managing to appear both relaxed and fussy in a way that was appealing even to Wei Ying’s eyes. Juxtapositions were always interesting. “I didn’t think Mister Lan would ever actually decide to do a run for it. I visited his shop once and always wondered if he’d ever actually try to share his work with the world.” The man made a noise of approval and gently tapped Wei Ying’s elbow, pulling the tissue and cape from his shoulders. “Let’s get a good look, hmm? What do you think?”

Wei Ying rose and took a few steps back to admire himself.

For once, he was excited about how he’d come across in the prints. They’d gone for pale colors for him and minimal makeup, which was another unusual choice, but managed to look very fetching even to him, who was never impressed by the styling or his own appearance. For once, he wished there was a full-length mirror for him to pose before.

“Would it be too vain of me to say you did an excellent job?”

“It’s easy when the face is this handsome without any help,” the stylist teased back. In the mirror, the blush that had until now been entirely built by a delicately built layer of rouge deepened as his cheeks warmed. “How are the clothes? Comfortable?”

Wei Ying blinked. “Are they what now?”

“Comfortable.”

“Was that a consideration for today?”

He nodded. “Of course! Mister Lan and Miss Chen had a long discussion about it. He wanted to ensure you were comfortable.”

Lan Zhan was that involved in this? Wei Ying supposed that made sense, but it still left him feeling warm and a little sensitive.

It wasn’t that he wanted or expected special treatment from Lan Zhan, but he’d kind of thought that Lan Zhan would be as hands off as possible throughout this process. In retrospect, it didn’t make any sense, not when Lan Zhan was so controlling of his image and behavior, but somehow… he’d figured since he himself was involved that Lan Zhan would shy away entirely. Knowing that Lan Zhan had influenced this experience so deeply, was perhaps the reason why it was already so nice compared to other jobs he’d taken? It meant a lot.

“Will Miss Chen speak with him again before the end of this?”

The stylist fussed one more time with the fit of the clothes and brushed his fingers lightly through his hair. “I believe she and Mister Lan will be going over the final proofs together for his approval. Why?”

“Would you ask her to thank him for me?”

He nodded and offered a sweet smile. “Of course!” Then, growing thoughtful, he bit his lip. “You’re not what I was expecting from what I heard, Mister Wei. It was nice to have met you today.”

“Yergh, it’s Wei Ying, please.” He leveled a dramatically overwrought glare the stylist’s way as he wagged his finger. “Do I even want to know what it is you heard?”

“Nothing so bad,” he said. “Just that you’re a bit cold and standoffish. I’ve definitely heard worse about other people. If I’ve troubled you, think nothing of it.”

“It’s fine. It’s fine. I’m glad I’ve beat your expectations of me.”

With that, the stylist sent him on his way. Miss Chen was waiting for him, apparently done with inspecting the set. Her smile, gentle, put him at ease immediately. Floating from the praise from the stylist, he ran his hand over the smooth, soft wood paneling, the low table, the rounded window in the back through which a pretty landscape could just barely be glimpsed. Up close, it was obviously a painting, but before a camera, it would most likely look as real as was necessary to complete the fantasy. “The set is beautiful.”

It was romantic and a little thrilling to stand here. Way back, Lan Zhan had always made him feel comfortable and sexy. A little bit of that carried through here. Wei Ying could convey that easily enough for him if that was what was called for.

“All right, Wei Ying. Are you ready?” Miss Chen tapped the side of her camera and gestured toward the set. “I’d like you to sit at the table if you don’t mind.”

Someone had put down a small pillow. Though he was certain the table hid it, he arranged the skirt of the long, flowing garment so it was entirely covered.

She directed him well, giving clear instructions while only touching him very rarely, and made the entire experience a wonderful one rather than a hassle. If Wei Ying could, he would always work with her and wondered where she’d been his whole life. Her laugh, when he said as much, sounded like chimes, soothing and pleasant.

It was so quiet on the set otherwise that he was actually able to hear her phone vibrating in her pocket. “Shit, sorry,” she said, earnest, breaking the spell she’d set throughout the morning. “It’ll just be a moment.” She glanced at the watch she was wearing and then read the message. “Actually, why don’t we take a break? We’ve been at it for a while.”

She stopped Wei Ying before he could step down from the set and raised an eyebrow. “Lan Zhan was hoping he might stop in on the shoot if you’re amenable.”

And there went all the ease Wei Ying had built up throughout the day. It was because he’d been lulled in with a sense of, apparently false, security, that it hit that much harder now. A sudden ice bath might have shocked him less. “Lan Zhan wants to come here?”

“Only if you’re okay with it.” She narrowed her eyes, thoughtful, no doubt imagining all sorts of things. Awful things, salacious things, maybe a few fun things, but probably nothing good. She could possibly even guess the truth of it if she wanted to all based on his answer.

“No, it’s fine. I just wasn’t expecting it. He can come if he wants to.”

Wei Ying tried not to flinch. Bad, bad choice of words.

After tapping at the screen, she shoved the phone back into her pocket. “We’ll break until he arrives so it doesn’t disrupt the rest of the shoot when he steps in. Sound good?”

“Sounds good.” It did not, but Wei Ying couldn’t take back his assent now.

“There’s some food around. Make sure you have some, okay?”

It was great in theory, breaking for lunch, but now Wei Ying’s stomach was somewhere in the vicinity of his throat and threatening to strangle him, so the possibility of enjoying food felt like a distant dream. He choked down some tea and searched the ceiling for the sword hung over his head, waiting to fall.

He fiddled with a few pieces of fruit and tried not to guess how long it would be until Lan Zhan arrived. Perhaps he was somewhere else close by. Perhaps he was far away. Perhaps it didn’t matter because suddenly the large, heavy door on the other side of the studio space opened and Lan Zhan was stepping through, all lean, trim lines, beautiful even now.

While his face flamed, every urge inside of him screamed at him to duck behind the set and hide. The rest of him wanted to throw himself into Lan Zhan’s arms and never let go. Considering he’d seen Lan Zhan twice already, that was troubling. What if he never felt at ease in Lan Zhan’s presence?

Lan Zhan scanned the space for Miss Chen or maybe just to make sure the first thing he saw wasn’t Wei Ying. He wasn’t particularly hidden, but he wasn’t right out there where he could be seen easily either.

Should he wave? Call out? Wait for Lan Zhan to approach him? It didn’t seem reasonable to assume Lan Zhan didn’t want to see him at all since he was willing to come to a photoshoot he was working, but that didn’t mean he’d want to talk to Wei Ying if he could avoid it. He was probably just here to ensure his vision was respected.

You’re overthinking it, Wei Ying told himself, firm. You’re overthinking it and you’re just going to make it weird. Go say hello. He searched around the little array of fruits on the table and grabbed a few that he knew Lan Zhan liked and rested them on a napkin in his palm.

He approached at what he considered a leisurely pace, a pleasantly bland smile on his mouth, and couldn’t help feeling a little giddy anyway as Lan Zhan’s attention finally turned toward him. Be cool, he willed. Be cool and not weird.

“Lan Zhan, have you eaten?” He held out his hand. Lan Zhan shuffled a half-step back and stared at the pile of fruit. “It’s pretty good. Thanks for springing for the good stuff.”

“Wei Ying.

Wei Ying’s heart skipped a beat at hearing his name in Lan Zhan’s mouth. Even now, he was weak for Lan Zhan.

“Come on, Lan Zhan, you should have some.” Waving his hand back and forth in the air, he waggled his eyebrows. If he couldn’t not be weird—honestly, very likely, since Wei Ying was always a little weird—he could exaggerate it so much that it lost its awkwardness and came back around to cool and unaffected.

Lan Zhan continued to hesitate, but before Wei Ying could try cajoling him for a third time, he grabbed a piece and popped it into his mouth, chewing thoroughly as Wei Ying waited for him to finish it.

“Good, huh?”

“Mn,” Lan Zhan agreed. “Yes.” He looked again around the space, a slight frown on his mouth, but perhaps not one of disappointment. “Is everything all right here?”

“Lan Zhan?”

“With the shoot,” he said. “Has it been a good experience so far?”

Ugh. Wei Ying’s heart was going to melt into goo. “It’s been great! You picked a good team. This is the least stressful shoot I’ve been a part of in a very long time.” He supposed, since Lan Zhan was here, he could say something himself instead of using the photographer to do so. “The stylist told me you wanted it to be a comfortable experience for me. Thank you, Lan Zhan. That was incredibly kind of you.”

“You have no reason to thank me.” Lan Zhan studied his face and then the outfit he was wearing. Wei Ying wanted to preen for him, but managed to refrain. “I’m the one who should be thanking you.”

“‘You have no reason to thank me,’” Wei Ying parroted, fake stern. After a few moments of deliberation, he added, “I’m sorry about what happened.”

Distantly, Lan Zhan answered, “It is my own fault.”

“We all have bad days, Lan Zhan,” Wei Ying replied. “You shouldn’t lose your dream over it.”

Lan Zhan’s fingers twitched at his side and he didn’t answer right away. “Nevertheless.”

An awkward silence fell between them, endless, awful hours of it compressed into a handful of seconds. That was the only reason why he opened his big mouth. “Are you going to stay for the rest of the shoot? Would you want to—” He was absolutely not on the verge of suggesting they get dinner after to catch up. He wasn’t. Strangling the words was the easiest thing in the world to do, so he did it. And it didn’t matter anyway, because—

“No, I have to get back to Gentian House.” His gaze settled on Wei Ying’s face, endlessly unruffled. “I just wanted to make sure…”

“Make sure?”

“Make sure everything is going well here.”

“Do you want to at least look at the set you bought? It’s pretty neat,” he insisted. Why are you pushing, Wei Ying? “I can show you a little of what you’re paying for. The rest are still breaking for lunch, so you won’t get the full experience. This’ll only take a second though!”

He managed, at the very last moment, to not grab hold of Lan Zhan’s hand. Instead, he beckoned Lan Zhan over and, wonder of wonders, it worked. Lan Zhan did follow him. When Wei Ying sat at the little table he’d become friends with over the course of the morning, he folded his legs beneath him.

Lan Zhan’s attention stayed on him, never faltered, not even once.

“The people you hired are so classy, Lan Zhan,” he said, coquettish, because it was still so much fun to tease Lan Zhan and it helped settled his nerves. “Miss Chen hasn’t asked me to look like I wanted to fuck the camera even one time!”

“Does that happen often?” There was a brittle quality in Lan Zhan’s tone that Wei Ying found interesting.

“More often than I’m interested in trying to make it seem like a camera was remotely fuckable, that’s for sure!” He leaned forward and tilted his chin up just so, gazed at Lan Zhan just so. “She told me to look as though I was waiting for someone I really wanted to see, someone who I didn’t think would ever be coming back.” He adopted the expression she’d liked best, turned his head again until he was just starting to look back toward the empty window of the set.

When he turned back around, Lan Zhan’s face carried a stunned expression, mouth slightly parted, but between one second and the next, he went blank-faced again. Wei Ying asked, shy, hopeful, “So, is it good? Do you think it will be what you want?”

“I…” Lan Zhan’s throat bobbed once, twice. “Yes. It’s good, Wei Ying.”

Wei Ying smiled, relieved, pleased. “I’m glad!”

They must have lingered too long, because Miss Chen and the PA were returning. “Ah, Lan Zhan. Do you want to stick around and watch for a little while? If Wei Ying doesn’t mind, of course.”

“I don’t mind,” he said, nodding. Even with the nerves twisting inside of him, he wanted very badly for Lan Zhan to stay. It was impossible to go back to what they had—he wasn’t greedy—but maybe, maybe this was a chance to regain something of what they had before. They’d been good with and to one another. Anything of that would be nice.

Come on, he thought, refusing to fidget as he awaited Lan Zhan’s decision. I know you’re stubborn, but just for a little while longer.

Lan Zhan looked around, attention settling on a corner that managed to have a good vantage and be too far away to be a total distraction. “Very well,” he said. “I won’t disrupt anything, I hope.”

Wei Ying smiled in relief and shook his head. “Lan Zhan, you could never be a disruption.”

Asking to be let onto the set had been a bad decision all around, but Lan Zhan didn’t realize quite how bad it was until he was standing awkwardly in the corner as he watched Chen Yuying direct Wei Ying. He was barely cognizant of this side of the industry. His awareness was so limited, in fact, that he didn’t truly realize how difficult it must be to do what Wei Ying did until he was witnessing it with his own eyes.

It wasn’t any one specific thing—he was still only sitting at that little table—but he had to hold awkward poses for long minutes and it was grating to hear Chen Yuying tell Wei Ying what to do, never mind what it must have been like to be the one being told to do it.

Wei Ying accepted it with equanimity, it seemed, chatting with her and the PA between groups of shots.

He was indescribably beautiful. And not even because the stylist had done an incredible job. Lan Zhan was fairly certain that he could have looked like he’d gotten into a fight and lost and still have been beautiful. It wasn’t his appearance that struck Lan Zhan, so much as the generosity and sweetness he managed to convey, the mysterious kindness. In fact, he’d been rather more gracious than expected in each of their run-ins so far, all three of them, collected in Lan Zhan’s heart to be protected there.

If he’d imagined them meeting again, he would have assumed Wei Ying would have thrown their past in his face, yelled at him for how they’d parted. At the time, he’d made it as amicable as possible, but time changed things. Lan Zhan hated himself so much for what he’d done and said back then. Why shouldn’t Wei Ying hate him, too? To find himself the recipient of the opposite reaction was disconcerting.

There was no one in this world who had understood Lan Zhan the way Wei Ying did. Even his brother, who knew him so well, couldn’t quite match it. If Wei Ying had been with him, he wouldn’t have done what he did at YZY, but if Wei Ying had been with him and it had happened somehow still, he would have understood what lived in Lan Zhan’s heart and supported him. While they were together, he’d learned so, so much about his own feelings, emotions, and desires. All the best parts of him and, in the end, all of the worst, the things Lan Zhan didn’t know existed in him before they’d been pulled into the open? Wei Ying had been there for all of them.

Lan Zhan craved that understanding.

“Turn the other way,” Chen Yuying said. “I think we’ve got enough of your right profile.”

Wei Ying’s eyelashes fluttered. “Ah, Miss Chen, but that is my better profile. Everyone says so.”

“Uh huh,” she replied, unmoved. “Turn please.”

It was all well and good that she asked him to turn except for how Wei Ying’s face was now directed his way. Though he kept his gaze averted, Lan Zhan was unable to offer him the same modicum of privacy. It was impossible to look away.

“Think about the happiest you ever were,” she said, voice low and intimate, but still far too loud by Lan Zhan’s reckoning. “Or imagine what you’d feel like at your happiest, whichever you prefer.”

“Ah, stop trying to drag truths out of me,” he said, teasing, but his expression transformed itself and not quite in the way Lan Zhan expected. “But for Lan Zhan, I will do my best.”

He shook his shoulders out and tossed a wink at Chen Yuying. Lan Zhan might have expected one of his patented incandescent smiles, the ones that threatened to break hearts and steal the breath from people’s lungs. It was far too soft for that, the smile he gave instead, small and private. His eyelashes swept low until he finally lifted his gaze again, attention landing on Lan Zhan’s face.

He recognized that smile. It was the one he wore when Lan Zhan had tried to wriggle out from beneath him on mornings after Wei Ying stayed over, still sleepy as he clamored to pull Lan Zhan back in for kisses that shouldn’t have been as pleasant as they always were when neither of them had brushed their teeth yet. If Wei Ying wasn’t too tired, he’d sometimes watch Lan Zhan prepare for the day with that smile in place as he sprawled across the bed, mussing the divan further while he rolled around and whined quietly about how mistreated he was. Lan Zhan, you’re too cruel. Not even a kiss for your little Wei Ying? He’s so small and sad. How can you leave him like this? Lan Zhan always used to remind him that Wei Ying was taller than him, not small at all, and too bright to be sad.

It threatened to punch the breath out of him now, that smile, the one nobody would understand the way Lan Zhan did.

After a moment, Wei Ying’s eyes crinkled and that smile brightened a little more, still genuine, but not quite as personal. It saved Lan Zhan from feeling as though he was drowning. Chen Yuying didn’t notice the difference, didn’t demand that he return to the former, just murmured in appreciation.

After taking a few more shots, she shook her head. “You’re definitely wrong about the better profile. I, uh, think we’ve got enough for the day. You do good work, Wei Ying. It was an unexpected pleasure to collaborate with you.”

“People keep saying that,” Wei Ying replied. “I’m glad I could exceed your expectations of me as well.”

Lan Zhan wanted to argue in Wei Ying’s favor, knew without a doubt what he was capable of. If others didn’t see it, he could set them straight, but—

But Wei Ying didn’t need Lan Zhan to protect him. He was doing just fine on his own by letting himself be judged by his behavior and leaving the rest.

He’d grown some since the last time they saw one another. It used to be he did have a bit of a chip on his shoulder, hated that others might talk poorly of him for unjust reasons. He always said that it didn’t matter what others thought as long as he did what was right, but it took a toll. Now, it didn’t even seem to faze him.

Did Lan Zhan like that confidence? He wasn’t sure. If Wei Ying knew how to deal with it, that meant he’d had to learn, right? That he experienced being underestimated in this way often enough to know how to deflect?

His attention turned to Lan Zhan as he stood and stretched, dissipating the thoughts that were gathering like storm clouds within him. The clothing accentuated the long, lean length of him and made Lan Zhan want things that he had no business wishing for.

“Lan Zhan,” he called, unconcerned or oblivious or both.

Whatever Wei Ying wanted from him now, he couldn’t in good conscience give it, not when he felt so exposed and vulnerable to Wei Ying.

He needed to think.

“Lan Zhan, why don’t you stay while I change back? We can talk for a bit?” Wei Ying’s fingers plucked at the fabric of his tunic. “Maybe—maybe we could get dinner?”

“I really do need to get back,” he said, hating that he had to say it, hating that his heart wouldn’t let him reach for this bit of grace that Wei Ying offered, treating it as though it was an infinitely renewable commodity, like he might come back to this chance in the future and have another go at it whenever he wished. He knew there would only be so many opportunities before Wei Ying gave up trying.

And still he denied himself, even in the face of Wei Ying’s obvious disappointment.

“Okay, Lan Zhan,” he said quietly. “I’ll see you again, then.” With that, he dashed off to the back where the stylist waited for him.

Though Wei Ying was too far away now to be heard with how low Lan Zhan’s voice was, he couldn’t help saying Wei Ying’s name once, just to hear it, just to pretend he was the sort who could call after him.

As he left, he wondered exactly how he was supposed to deal with this going forward, because Wei Ying was right. They would be seeing one another again. Lan Zhan needed to learn how to accept it without causing Wei Ying any further harm.

Then

Department stores, Lan Zhan decided, were the absolute worst places in existence. As he worked through a throng of shoppers to make his way to the perfume counters, where he would no doubt fight against the flashy signs and sales clerks who received commissions for selling subpar products courtesy of agreements made with the marketing departments of the big name designers, he already found himself annoyed by the assignment set for him, which boiled down to go torment yourself with the competition’s perfumes for a few hours and tell me what you discover.

What he would discover, he imagined, was inferior, uninspired takes. He wondered if this wasn’t his uncle’s point, but if that was the case, it wasn’t like he wasn’t already aware. His uncle sent him here often, usually with something more specific in mind than such a plain directive as go to the department store and nothing else.

No matter how expertly created, there was always something, Lan Zhan thought, wrong with the final result, like every perfume here merely existed to be as commercially viable as possible. As he watched the clerks shilling inelegant concoctions, he wondered if that was the problem. Most customers bypassed the counters without even a curious glance. A few people perused the sparkling bottles and pretty boxes, drawn in by the fresh-faced youths at the counters, but they seemed on a specific mission and, if the frustration on their features was any indication, it was a mission they were failing.

He’d read the market research, of course, and discussed it at length with his brother. People didn’t buy perfume to wear it. They bought it and gave it away to people who wouldn’t wear it. It wasn’t exciting to them to search for the perfect expression of their personality and mood through scent and Lan Zhan couldn’t blame them. Lan Zhan wanted to change that.

What he saw when he looked around was a bunch of people wanting something without knowing what it was, wanting different without knowing what that meant. What his uncle wanted to teach him probably wasn’t that; he’d never been one to buck custom and custom in this industry was creating what could be sold. What made Cloud Recesses stand out was their quality and solid standing within the industry, not their uniqueness. If Lan Zhan came back and said he wanted to try something new as a result of his time spent here today, he’d be scolded and told to manually inventory the new stock of ingredients.

A man about his own age, nineteen or twenty, milled around, especially noticeable in torn, tightly fitted jeans as he expertly avoided the clerks’ wiles while also trying to get a closer look at the perfumes on display. It would have looked suspicious—or more suspicious—if he didn’t also call attention to himself by smiling at them and raising his hands to ward them off.

But what was he looking for? That was the question. And why did Lan Zhan find himself interested in the answer? That was another good question. He didn’t seem like a hapless boyfriend or husband and his attention drifted from the feminine scents to the masculine in equal measure, so Lan Zhan was left wondering exactly what he was trying to buy or who it was for.

Lan Zhan’s fingers tightened around the small notebook he always carried.

Finally his curiosity got the better of him, so unusual that he startled himself when he actually approached the man, and found himself aghast when the man had the audacity to smile at him.

“I was wondering if you’d come over,” he said, sweet and charming and a little bit mischievous. “Do you work here or…?”

He gestured at the notebook Lan Zhan was carrying. Lan Zhan was dismayed all over again at the implication. “God, no.”

“Oh. I figured you were in market research or were a consultant or something. Sorry if I hit on a touchy subject, ha. Not a fan of department stores, I take it?”

“Not particularly.”

“Yeah, they’re kind of a pain in the ass, aren’t they? So many people. So much stuff. Who knows what to do with it all, right?”

What a strange, strange young man this was, making such small talk about department stores. Lan Zhan didn’t know what to say to him, which was odd, because he always knew exactly what to say even if he never gave voice to the words. “Mn.”

“Do you know anything about perfume by chance?” His hand wrapped around the back of his neck as he ducked his head; Lan Zhan didn’t find it remotely charming. “Or do you just like to watch handsome men in the perfume section from the shadows?”

Lan Zhan didn’t flush, but it was a very near thing. “I know a little something,” he said, surprised at how smug he sounded even to his own ears.

“Then you can help me!”

That was the last thing on the planet he wanted to do, except… “What do you need?”

The beaming smile the man offered him was… actually very, very worth whatever demeaning hell he was going to go through for the next however long it took to find what he was looking for. “Perfume for my mom.”

Lan Zhan just barely refrained from grimacing and blurting that he could probably find a much less cliché gift anywhere else. His mouth was already half-ready to scold him with the statistics that showed most people in his mother’s age demographic just shoved bottles of perfume into a cabinet and forgot about them. The market just wasn’t there.

Without more comprehensive and detailed instructions from his uncle, he was willing to give helping a shot. If nothing else, it was character building. A good challenge. A chance to spend a bit of time with the exuberant young man next to him. A case study to drag back to his uncle.

“I’m Wei Ying by the way,” he said, holding his hand out. Lan Zhan didn’t take it and he quickly pulled it back in before Lan Zhan could consider the possibility of shaking it. Wei Ying’s hands found their way behind his back. Lan Zhan refused to be disappointed by the lost opportunity.

“Lan Zhan.” Having apparently reached the limits of his ability to socialize properly, Lan Zhan floundered. “Why did you choose to buy perfume for your mother?” And can I talk you out of it?

For a moment, he wished he was anywhere else in the world than here. Suzhou, though his home and where Cloud Recesses resided, was not one of the more interesting centers for perfume out there. One day, he would like it to be. One day, he’d like to be the one to make it so. Elsewhere, he might have more options to offer Wei Ying. Instead, he had this department store.

This wasn’t about him and what he wanted. It was about what a consumer wanted. And the consumer in question was Wei Ying’s mother. Perhaps that would make it easy then.

He mentally ran down the list of scents that had managed to break into the market here, the big ones, the ones that most people bought and then didn’t wear, gifts that were to one degree or another thoughtful, but ultimately useless. Those, he immediately discarded. No Chanels, no Cliniques.

The younger generation, his own generation, Lan Zhan hoped, would take steps into the realm he was looking forward to pursuing, but they weren’t buying anything here either.

“She ran out of the perfume she normally wears and was a little sad about it?” He shrugged. “I was hoping to find something else she might enjoy. From how bummed she was, I’m under the impression it might not be possible to get here, so I know at least that much.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out his phone. “Here, this was it. I was thinking maybe—”

Lan Zhan looked at it and nearly choked at what he was seeing. “You’re sure it’s this one?”

“I know, I know. I was a little shocked, too,” he replied. “I promise it doesn’t actually smell like blood on her. It’s really nice and, uh… yeah, the other thing?” Coughing delicately, he tucked his phone away.

“Why don’t you order it for her?” It could sometimes be annoying to get perfumes imported, but it wasn’t insurmountable if he was truly determined. In fact, Lan Zhan could probably…

The formula was no doubt filed in Cloud Recesses databases somewhere—they, like every other large fragrance company, bought and analyzed every release that hit the market and kept the results for study; it would only be a matter of abusing the lab for a few hours to generate a usable sample for Wei Ying. It broke an unspoken agreement that existed between each and every perfumer, designer, and fragrance company out there: no formula was secret. Therefore, all formulas were sacrosanct.

He couldn’t just dupe an Etat Libre d’Orange fragrance for a man he just met.

“I thought about it,” he said, “but she also gets bored, so I decided maybe I’d try to surprise her with something, well, not similar, but… weird, too?”

Lan Zhan again didn’t grimace. The momentary joy he’d felt at Wei Ying showing him something interesting was immediately corrupted by the thought that he’d now have to find something like that here. Again, he wished he was anywhere else. The things he could have shown Wei Ying? The things, honestly, he could have done for Wei Ying if he had his own lab, his own supplies, his own company?

Instead, he had a department store with an indifferent selection and no actual perfumeries anywhere in their vicinity.

“What aspect did she like the best?”

“Aspect?” Wei Ying asked.

“Which accords? How did it smell on her? Aquatic? Warm?” Warm was… not the right word to use for this particular scent. “Floral?”

“Um… aquatic, maybe?” Wei Ying replied. “Kind of salty?” He wrinkled his nose. “You know what? I’m the least shameless person I know and now I’m beginning to wonder if I’ve been saving it all up for this moment. I promise she also doesn’t smell like spunk. It really is nice. Maybe a little bit like flowers, but beach flowers, I guess.”

Beach flowers. God. Lan Zhan was so charmed despite himself.

He scanned the floor, skipping the Calvin Kleins, the Hugo Bosses, scents that you could find anywhere in the world to be bored by. He would even have settled for Jo Malone if he had to, some of the salt accords there were okay, but he really didn’t want to do that either. He should have thought of this earlier, too, but, “What’s the price point we’re looking at?”

“Hmm?” Wei Ying then shook his head when Lan Zhan looked back at him. “Oh, uh… anything? I just got paid a respectably stupid amount of money for very little work so I’m practically flush with it.”

Lan Zhan raised an eyebrow at him.

“Uh, that is to say… I did a friend a favor and ended up tripping into a short-term modeling contract?”

Lan Zhan’s eyebrow wasn’t done on its upward journey because it was well on its way to becoming acquainted with his hairline.

“Ach, don’t look at me like that. It’s ridiculous, I know, but I was free for the day and they needed someone right now and I was bored and available. Anyway, I feel guilty about it so I might as well do something nice with it, right?”

“Are you sure?”

Wei Ying rolled his eyes. “I wouldn’t be here if I was destitute, Lan Zhan. It’s fine. I can do one nice thing for my mom and not find myself a pauper on a street corner somewhere. Do you have something in mind?”

Lan Zhan frowned, spotting a small display on one of the nearby glass cases. It’d been a while since he’d paid much attention to what Hermès was doing, but they had a decent aquatic and it wouldn’t bankrupt Wei Ying, not that anything here would if he wasn’t lying. “I do.”

Trailing after him, Wei Ying said, playful, “Oh? Does it smell like—”

“No.”

When they approached the counter, Wei Ying, of course, leaned against it and smiled brightly for the clerk. Then, turning to Lan Zhan, he said, “Really? These bottles are kind of phallic,” in a way that would have caused Lan Zhan distress except for how it was the clerk who looked a little mortified. Wei Ying lifted his hand and made an apologetic sound. “Sorry, inside joke. The bottles are lovely. Very mature and statuesque.”

In truth, Hermès bottles did look a bit like colorful dicks, but Lan Zhan wasn’t going to admit to that in front of an audience even if it might have earned a laugh from Wei Ying. Somewhere, Jean-Claude Ellena was probably losing sleep knowing just what scent Lan Zhan was comparing his work to, but since he wasn’t here, Lan Zhan wasn’t going to worry about it. “May I?” he asked the clerk, indicating the tester of Un Jardin sur le Nil. The clerk nodded. “A touche, please?”

“Uh.”

“The paper strip,” Lan Zhan said with infinite reserves of patience or so he liked to pretend.

Lan Zhan took the bottle and the paper strip and spritzed it carefully, bringing it to his own nose first before handing it over to Wei Ying, who was watching him closely, slow to take the paper. “It’s nice,” Wei Ying said, still looking at Lan Zhan.

And then Lan Zhan took Wei Ying’s hand, turning it until his inner wrist was exposed, not even thinking about what he was doing until it was already done. Wei Ying’s gaze was heavy, expectant, and Lan Zhan felt as though he’d burned his palm on his own impositions. “It smells different on the skin,” he explained, clearing his throat. He replaced the bottle on the counter and then took the paper from Wei Ying’s fingers. “You should spend a little time with it. Get to know the scent before you commit to it.”

Wei Ying brought his wrist up, eyes closing as he focused on it. After, he nodded approvingly and then held his wrist up to Lan Zhan’s face, so close that Lan Zhan could inventory the tendons and ligaments, the delicate blues of his veins. He had lovely wrists and the hands to match and right now that wrist smelled like mango, juicy and light and green, a little bit like vegetal carrot for interest, a burst of grapefruit. Later, it would take on the deeper scents that Lan Zhan tended to prefer and the aquatics he suspected Wei Ying’s mother might like, but for now, it was incandescently tropical. Pretty. Sweet.

“Spend some time with it,” Lan Zhan asserted again because he did not know what else to say instead.

“Are you going to keep me company?” Wei Ying asked.

“Do you require further assistance?”

“Maybe.” He took the touche back from Lan Zhan, fiddled with it. “What if I don’t end up liking it?”

“You could find me again,” Lan Zhan said. “I won’t be going far.” He did still have work to do. His uncle definitely wouldn’t consider this work. Lan Zhan was enjoying it far too much.

“Then… can I follow you around?”

Lan Zhan narrowed his eyes. “Why would you want to?”

Wei Ying sniffed at his own wrist again and then said, “I think the better question is why wouldn’t I? You’re interesting! And not very hard on the eyes! And I’m really curious about what you’re doing here. I think you’re really cool and I’d like to talk to you more.”

Lan Zhan’s ears grew pink at the praise. Nobody considered him interesting and nobody had ever told him he wasn’t hard on the eyes. Few showed an interest in what he was doing and not a soul on the planet would ever mistake him as being ‘really cool.’

Was it really, then, his fault when he capitulated with a nod, when he was secretly pleased with the smile Wei Ying gifted him in response?

He didn’t get a whole lot done, not with Wei Ying chattering away, asking him questions about every perfume they came across, laughing when he was especially sharp in his assessment of them: I’ve smelled tire fires more graceful than that cologne or that is a good scent to wear if you want to smell like a boar.

Before long, an hour passed, then a second, and then Wei Ying glanced at his phone for the first time since they’d been introduced and frowned. “I have to go.” Then he checked the perfume one more time, nodding as he raised his wrist a second time for Lan Zhan. Now it was more cinnamon and musk, only a tinge of the citrus left from earlier, and the soft, watery twist of bulrush and lotus. Stunning on Wei Ying. “But first, I should actually pay for this. Thanks for the help, Lan Zhan!”

He wasn’t, he decided, going to be disappointed once Wei Ying was out of sight, melting into the crowd.

He was, as it turned out, a complete and utter liar.

And for that lie, he suffered his uncle’s disappointment when he returned and could only say, when asked what he learned, that Jean-Claude Ellena was the best perfumer Hermès could have hired under the circumstances.

Now

The chime above the door drew Lan Zhan’s attention away from his laptop. Ostensibly, he was working on his quarterly inventory. In actuality, he was deciding which scents he’d be retiring so he wouldn’t have to face choosing later which would make it all the way to the manufacturing stage again. Though it would do him no good in the end, he welcomed the distraction presented to him by the handful of girls who trickled into the store, young and hip and curious. Their voices caught in low murmurs and giggles as they looked around. They wore clothes that clearly cost money, but in a way that hid that fact as best it could. Occasionally, they gathered around one of the young woman’s phones.

It made him curious. What exactly were they looking at?

Normally, he left new customers alone for a little while to get their bearings and gain his own insights into what sort of customer he was looking at. Someone who enjoyed perfumes and was clearly impassioned, he would attempt to spend time with them. Those who were harried, he left in peace.

He didn’t know what to do with these young women. They were excitable and harried, but they also seemed to linger as well, crowding around each sample bottle for long, agonizing moments.

Finally, one of them turned her attention to Lan Zhan. Stepping toward the counter, she brushed her hair away from her face. “Uh… Mister Lan?”

Straightening up and adopting an expression that was slightly less cool than his usual, he nodded. “How can I help you?”

She smiled in relief before all but throwing herself against the counter in her enthusiasm. “Is it true you’re doing a collaboration with Wei Ying?”

Lan Zhan blinked, uncertain. Nie Huaisang hadn’t coached him on what he could say and when.

“It’s just—he made a post on Weibo about it.” She shoved her phone in his face where there indeed was a post: Hey, everyone! Congratulate me on successfully swindling my way into my dream job. Beneath this caption was a link to Gentian House’s website and a few of the photos from the shoot he’d done. Lan Zhan’s fingers itched to snatch the phone from her grip. Even on such a small, cramped screen, Wei Ying looked beautiful. “Is it true?”

“Would Wei Ying lie on a public post on his professional account?” he asked, not unkind as he pointed out the obviousness of the question. Frankly, he sympathized. He’d signed the contract and sometimes even he didn’t believe it.

She flushed lightly. “I know, I know. I’m just—what’s he like? How did it even come about? Is he as handsome in real life as he is in the pictures?” She then, rather unexpectedly, did exactly what he might have wanted her to do and pulled up a larger view of one of the photos. Wei Ying was indeed very handsome in it, staggeringly so, and yet it didn’t begin to touch how beautiful he truly was. He didn’t dare say as much to the girl, of course. He couldn’t begin to imagine what giving himself away like that would even be like, but he mentally enjoyed the feeling of seeing Wei Ying here and knowing that the truth was even more intense.

“Wei Ying is a lovely individual,” he said. Though he was a private person by inclination and upbringing, he enjoyed the thought of someone else out there knowing Lan Zhan thought Wei Ying was lovely. He didn’t imagine he’d be able to bring himself to say it to Wei Ying’s face. The other girls crowded around the counter, hanging on his every word, too. The others, overhearing, wandered over, too. “And he is very handsome. I’m lucky a talent of his caliber wished to work with my company.”

“It’s so exciting! Your shop is beautiful by the way. I’m sorry I didn’t discover it on my own. You’re very mysterious, Mister Lan, did you know?”

“I’ve only just started the company,” he replied. “I haven’t established myself well yet.” Or, he admitted to himself, at all. “Wei Ying is helping me rectify that.”

“Wow,” they all said as one.

This was, apparently, the power of what Wei Ying did. Even just a single post and a few photos was enough to get people to come find out for themselves what Lan Zhan and Gentian House was about.

“Perhaps you’ll discuss your perfumes with us?” the girl asked, surprising Lan Zhan yet again. He’d have thought she was only interested in being here to get more information about Wei Ying.

“Of course.” He stepped out from behind the counter and they followed him back to the wall of perfumes. They expressed interest in one of his earliest scents, less popular than many, but a personal favorite. He thought Florent would be pleased. It contained his safranal. He told them about him and where each of the ingredients came from. Wide-eyed, they sighed and smiled and sniffed the sample bottle. Armed with glass wands, they stroked their own skin with the perfume, laughing as they did so, and caught one another by the arm to smell each other. Oh, it smells so good on you or ahhh, smell it now, smell it now.

It looked very much like they were having fun.

Fun wasn’t what he was used to inspiring in others, but it was pleasant enough to witness. They asked intelligent questions and took pictures of the bottles, the decorations, each other, though Lan Zhan drew the line at them taking a picture of him. At that, they pouted, but respectfully put their phones away.

Each of them bought a bottle of perfume, full bottles with full price tags, not even batting an eyelash at the cost, and each of them said that they’d be coming back and thanked him for his generosity and time and all the information he shared. They told him to say hello to Wei Ying for them and tell him that they’re such big fans of his. He promised he would even though he wasn’t sure how soon he’d see Wei Ying again and it seemed silly to relay such a message.

The thought of not seeing Wei Ying soon was a daunting one. After all, they had such a short time with one another again. Less than a month.

Shortly after, he received a message from Nie Huaisang. Who the hell are you and where’s the Lan Zhan I know and love?

A moment later, a few links came through from the girls from earlier, all of them gushing about him and Gentian House. Each of their profiles showed more followers than Lan Zhan would ever know what to do with.

In the comments, a lot of others expressed interest in coming to Gentian House.

Huh.

It wasn’t until Wei Ying was sitting across from Jiang Cheng and Jiang Yanli, poking at the same three or four plates of food they always ordered, that he realized it might be, uh, awkward to be around them. To be fair to them all, they so rarely talked business at these lunches that it was easy to forget who their mother was and, well, this thing with Gentian House was so very new. Even now, it seemed a little like a fantasy come to life.

Every time he tried to remind himself that it was real—and that meant it was flawed and might very well fall apart—all he could think about was how ethereally fucking beautiful Lan Zhan still was. If he wanted to, he could have been his own model and everyone would have swooned for his perfumes without Wei Ying’s intervention. He had that kind of draw, magnetism of a quiet, unique, not entirely fathomable kind. He’d look so beautiful at the shoot and Wei Ying was so busy contemplating that possibility that he didn’t realize Jiang Cheng was going to reach across and take a swipe at the side of his head until he did it.

“Hey, am I boring you?” Jiang Cheng scowled. “If you’re unhappy with this conversation, I’m sure I can get back to work. That way, I won’t have to explain to my mother why I’m having lunch with a traitor.”

“A-Cheng,” Jiang Yanli replied. “Credit where credit’s due, she called him an ungrateful whelp, not a traitor.”

Yu Ziyuan had never been a fan of his anyway, but she was his big break and she never, ever let him forget it. “Ah, Jiang Cheng. You don’t have to explain it to me. If you need to go…”

“Oh, fuck off,” he answered, stabbing into his bowl with his chopsticks. “If I did everything according to what my mother wanted, I’d be—”

“Exactly who you are?” Wei Ying smiled. “You’re allowed to be your mother’s protégé, Jiang Cheng. If I am actually causing problems, don’t stand on ceremony. We both know how political this industry can be.” It hadn’t taken a lot of digging to figure out Lan Zhan had been effectively blacklisted by every designer who put out perfumes all because of what happened with Yu Ziyuan.

His favorite siblings outside of the Wens exchanged glances. One of them fondly rolled her eyes and the other did the same, only belligerently.

“Shut up. I’m here, aren’t I? I can live with her yelling at me for five minutes before getting over it and putting me back to work. Besides, the next thing you know, she’ll be trying to hire you out from under him and I’ll get caught in the middle of it.”

Wei Ying snorted. “That’s not going to happen.”

“Duh. I know.”

“Nie Huaisang put a clause in the contract. Non-compete with YZY for at least six months after we conclude ours.” Wei Ying shrugged. In truth, he would have given up working with YZY for good if that was what Lan Zhan wanted.

“That is not how I know that won’t be happening, but it’s good to have the ammo when mom tries it with me.”

“Then how do you know, Jiang Cheng? Enlighten me.”

Jiang Cheng’s face worked through a complicated array of emotions and ended its journey with a lingering glare. It was accompanied by an exasperated, exaggerated sigh. “Lan Zhan.”

“Lan Zhan?”

“I knew the minute his name got invoked that you were going to do something stupid. You’re always stupid when it comes to that man and I’ve never understood why. It’s like your brain just shuts down when it comes to him.” He poked at his bowl again and frowned, exchanging a certified Look™ with Jiang Yanli. “You do know what you’re doing here, right? This isn’t going to…”

“Jiang Cheng, it’s fine. I’m just doing him a favor. It’s not going to turn into a thing.”

“Every couple of years, you turn it into a thing all by yourself and, like, run off to California like some weird American poet for a few weeks or chuck your phone into a lake in the mountains so nobody can reach you or cry into your mother’s cooking until she calls us to fix it.”

“To be fair, my mother’s too good a cook for how lazy she is. That’s why I cry.” This is a blatant lie and they all know it. “Also, Big Sur was beautiful and I don’t regret that trip in the slightest. And my phone was broken anyway, so why not throw it out?”

He still felt a little bad about that last, to be honest, because he had broken it specifically to avoid doing something stupid, like call Lan Zhan’s number—which, big fucking assumption that it was still Lan Zhan’s number—and beg him to take Wei Ying back even though it had been years by that point. The lake didn’t deserve to have battery acid leached into it by a rusty piece of shit cell phone or whatever happened when cell phones wound up in lakes. The plus side of dumping a phone in a lake: you couldn’t retrieve old phone numbers. Soon enough, Wei Ying couldn’t remember the digits.

“Don’t speak ill of your mother, Wei Ying,” Jiang Cheng shot back. “She’s a lovely woman. Just like you except not annoying and better looking.”

“So not like me at all,” Wei Ying said, except Jiang Cheng wasn’t wrong. They were scarily similar. Luckily, Jiang Cheng’s crush wasn’t on him. “But I guess you’re partially right. I’m lazy, too.”

Jiang Cheng’s face did that cute thing where it got all red when he was embarrassed. “I didn’t say she’s lazy. Stop putting words in my mouth. My point,” he said, very pointedly as he stopped to take a drink of his tea, “is you’re about due for another Lan Zhan-induced bout of stupidity and given your current situation, I’m not sure that’s a good thing. What are you going to do if you try something? He’s right there now, isn’t he? You could actually be stupid in front of him.”

“I’m not going to do anything stupid,” Wei Ying insisted. “I’m just trying to help.”

“Yeah, you’re trying to help your ex. Who else on the planet would do that? Anyone else would move on and hate the guy, but not you. You’re just content to help.”

“A-Cheng,” Jiang Yanli said, dropping her chopsticks in favor of poking him in the arm. “What he means is we’re worried about you and how your kindness might get taken advantage of.”

That wasn’t a lump forming in his throat, he just needed to clear it a little bit. “He made the right decision for himself at the time. I’m not going to hold that against him. Anyway, we were young. I was a lot back then. He was nice about it. There’s no reason why I shouldn’t want to help him now. Sometimes exes can be friendly.”

Jiang Cheng’s eyebrow rose high on his forehead and he scoffed so deliberately that it managed to transcend disdain and hit somewhere in the vicinity of dedicated disrespect. “Then I wish he had been an asshole, so you wouldn’t still be hung up on him. You barely date because no one can measure up.”

“You’re one to talk, Jiang Cheng. There’s not a person on the planet who’s good enough for you. At least I try sometimes.” Sometimes meaning he went out for the night and then told his date that this was fun, but it couldn’t be anything, so better luck next time. Still: attempts were made. Jiang Cheng was just exaggerating like always.

“Yeah, because I’m picky. You’re just traumatized by having been dumped so nicely.”

“Oh, my god. Let’s not talk about my love life or lack thereof, please. And save the strong words for situations that call for it, maybe? ‘Traumatized?’ Really? I’m a grown man at this point. I know how to handle myself.”

Jiang Cheng rolled his eyes again, such an elegantly efficient way of telling Wei Ying that he was not buying any of Wei Ying’s shit.

“Jiang Cheng, listen. I appreciate the reminder that this isn’t… this isn’t more than what it is. I get it. I do. I’m exquisitely aware of what’s happening here and what can’t possibly happen despite it.”

The look Jiang Cheng gave him this time was still suspicious, but softened a little bit. He said, gruff, unwilling to actually catch Wei Ying’s eye as he spoke, “I just don’t want you to get hurt again.”

“I know. And I appreciate it. I appreciate both of you for the reminder. Thank you, Jiang Cheng. And thank you, Yanli-jie.” It really was good to have them around. No matter what happened with Lan Zhan, he did have people in his corner.

Jiang Cheng hummed in acknowledgment, a sign that he wouldn’t be addressing this any further. It was a relief to be honest and filled him with warmth because Jiang Cheng cared enough to look out for him. It would be a good reminder, too, that he should keep track of his heart in this. Because though he believed he could remain cool, it would be easy to allow himself to fall into something, some belief that maybe they could be more than what they were.

If they could even be friends, that would be a dream all on its own.

He didn’t dare ask for more.

Though he wasn’t hungry and he probably wouldn’t ever be hungry again from how stuffed he still was from lunch with the Jiangs, Wei Ying wandered over to the kitchen as soon as he returned home and snaked one of Wen Ning’s sparkling waters from the refrigerator. He leaned against the door, eyes closed, sipping slowly as he thought hard about what had been said. His lunches with Jiang Cheng and Jiang Yanli always left him happy and content, even when he was getting berated for, frankly, deserved behaviors. Though he couldn’t regret his decision, it wasn’t a bad thing to remember what he and Lan Zhan were to one another.

After finishing half the bottle, he sighed and opened his eyes.

Sitting on the counter that separated the kitchen from the living area was a small box. It must have been hand delivered by someone because it wasn’t wrapped or covered in postage. The surface was sleek to the touch as though the paper or cardboard was coated in a lacquer, a blue so pale it was almost white or gray, and embossed with the characters for Gentian House and colored an equally pale, shining gold.

“Wen Ning?” he called. Wen Yuan would be at school and Wen Qing was on-shift at the hospital again, always. Granny would be out with her friends. No answer.

He opened the box and found an envelope taped to a layer of eggshell pale tissue paper. His heart thrummed as he lifted the thick paper and plummeted in disappointment when it was Nie Huaisang’s penmanship that greeted him. Thought you might want to make a post!

He could make a post. It was in the contract that he should make posts. Nie Huaisang had offered to provide the copy for him to post, which he refused because, come on. For Lan Zhan? He had to give all of himself, his genuine self. But as he thought about it, he realized he had no idea what he wanted to say. The announcement post with a first look at the photoshoot had been easy, sure, but he’d never done something like this for a product he didn’t use.

And, in truth, he didn’t wear Lan Zhan’s perfumes. He wasn’t sure he could.

Peeling the tissue paper back, he found himself presented with five small bottles, somewhat larger than a sample vial, but a good deal smaller than a full-sized bottle would be. He lined up each on the counter. Like strange, little jewels, their sturdy glass gleamed under the light. He still felt somehow as though they would shatter if he handled them poorly.

The only thing he knew about perfume was what Lan Zhan had told him, way back, but his memory was shoddy and he’d forced so many words out of Lan Zhan back then—he’d loved, loved listening to Lan Zhan talk and felt like Lan Zhan had learned a little too well the expectation of silence before Wei Ying came along—that he couldn’t remember the important ones, nothing beyond the very basics. Persistence, sillage, accords. Those were the sort of things anyone might discover on their own if they went online and read a review. Wei Ying couldn’t just make such a post himself; it had to mean something, had to feel true to Wei Ying and how he felt about Lan Zhan without exposing too much.

Frowning, he opened one of the bottles and sprayed it on one wrist. He knew with a certainty that Lan Zhan would have been able to tell him exactly what was in the bottle and in what concentration. He could have teased out tonka from vanilla from sandalwood and explained the difference between blood orange and bergamot. He would, if cajoled, have explained the chemistry as it dried down.

All Wei Ying could tell with any certainty was that it smelled beautiful, otherworldly, like it belonged to another time entirely: he just couldn’t decide if that time was in the past or the future. The name gave no hint as to the answer, though it explained itself in another way: infinite.

The idea, it was too big for Wei Ying. Wei Ying was just a guy, you know? He looked okay when other people put work into him, but in his heart, he wasn’t that deep of a person. He didn’t think in such grandiose terms, not since before he got out of college anyway, back when he had the luxury to think so abstractly, so beautifully. Now he just got barked at by photographers and treated like a moron.

The next one was a little closer to earth, warm and comfortably dusty, fresh and green, but in a humble, playful way. He liked this one a lot and kept returning to it as he tested the others: a bright, blossoming citrus, a deep, sexy night on the town, a powdery dream. They ran the gamut of tastes, a true sampling, but it left Wei Ying wondering which five Lan Zhan would have chosen specifically for Wei Ying to test. This might give anyone an idea of Lan Zhan’s range, but it didn’t tell Wei Ying much about what Lan Zhan might have thought were his best.

He suspected the second would have been one of them, but the others, while lovely even to Wei Ying’s inexpert senses, felt impersonal. He picked up the bottle again, weighed it in his hands, frowned down at it. mo(u)rning, it was called, which gave as many questions as it answered.

Sighing, Wei Ying pocketed it and headed back out, donning his mask and sunglasses, hoping he would find some inspiration if he walked around a bit and cleared his head.

Two hours later, the sun bleeding toward a late afternoon pageant of red and orange and blushing pink, he still had no answer, but he had started following a whim: as he strolled, he took pictures of the bottle in increasingly preposterous places he stumbled across. He hasn’t spent all that much time here in over a year. Nor even before that if he was being honest. He liked living in Suzhou, but he ended up spending so much of his time in Shanghai and Beijing and Guangzhou instead or even in stranger locales, the steppes for a ridiculous photoshoot or a small village where nobody on the crew spoke the local dialect and Wei Ying wouldn’t be able to find on a map now even if he wanted to. He even spent time abroad in cities he didn’t particularly like surrounded by people he didn’t particularly care for.

And in a few weeks, he’d be leaving again. It was nice to enjoy his home turf a bit.

He was half-balanced on a low-hanging tree branch in a park when, of course, he heard his own name called out from behind him.

Lan Zhan.

Then

Wei Ying liked to think he wasn’t a creepy person, but even he had to admit: this was a little bit weird. It wasn’t even because he liked Lan Zhan, though he did, a lot, as soon as they met, but because he really did want to thank him for taking the time to help him. Not many people would bother.

Unfortunately, Wei Ying hadn’t realized at the time quite how much it would mean to him. He hadn’t thought to ask for something like, say, Lan Zhan’s phone number so he could try to repay the kindness in a better way than this.

All he had was a department store and a hunch, a hope.

He approached the clerk working at the Hermès counter and knew immediately that he was recognized by the subtle shift of her smile. It was quite probably only because he’d said the perfume bottles looked like dicks, but hey, memorability was good. It would make this easier.

“Hi,” he said, pleasant, sweet, kind, the kind of kind that was very obvious in its presentation. He wanted something and he didn’t want to waste this clerk’s time being coy. He also didn’t want to come off as a creep though, again, he was truly feeling like one.

“Hey,” the clerk replied, noticing nothing amiss with Wei Ying’s behavior as yet. She smirked slightly, eyeing the sample bottles on the counter. Still looked like dicks. “Problem with the perfume?”

“Huh? Oh, no. No, it’s good.”

“Good!” Now her curiosity was piqued. “Then how can I help you?”

“Do you remember the man I was with? He’s very—” Handsome, beautiful, wonderful, amazing. “—stoic? Good taste in perfumes?”

Before her gaze could shutter entirely, he did see recognition there, which answered his question. His hopes lifted further.

He raised his hands in surrender. “I’d just like to thank him for helping me out. I didn’t want to waste my time hanging around in the hopes of seeing him if he’s never been here before, that’s all.”

That did nothing to assuage her skepticism, but it didn’t matter because she’d given him all the answer he needed.

“I promise I won’t skulk around your store causing any trouble.”

She offered him a bland smile, refusing to give him anything else. Which was fair and right. Who wanted to encourage a potential stalker? Wei Ying would just have to prove it by not being any weirder than he was already being.

He said, entirely too cheerful, “Anyway, have a nice day!”

Her eyes narrowed slightly and her smile thinned. It was a look that indicated nothing more than the idea she would call security on him the first moment he stepped out of line. Which was fine by him. Protect Lan Zhan, even from him if necessary.

Lan Zhan deserved to be protected. He didn’t know how he knew it, but he did.

In truth, he didn’t expect Lan Zhan to show up even though it had only been a few days since they’d seen one another. In fact, the chances were very slim, but he was desperate and stupid and Lan Zhan had no social media presence at all as far as he could tell and there was no way Lan Zhan would try to reach out to him despite his own more than robust social media usage. It was a ridiculous waste of time for Wei Ying to hang around.

As he browsed the perfume counters and finally found a corner from which he figured he had a decent view, he was pretty sure Lan Zhan wouldn’t.

If he felt a touch melancholic about it, that was his own business.

Lan Zhan didn’t return that day or the next, but he had some time throughout the rest of the week, so he kept trying.

Because he wasn’t expecting to see Lan Zhan at all, he didn’t recognize him at first, not even as he all but floated across his vision. He was as ethereally beautiful as before, dressed in pale colors that somehow didn’t seem in the least bit boring. Brighter pops of blue splashed themselves across the frames of the sunglasses he wore, almost impressionistic. They were also in the insouciant blue of his shoes, somehow perfect and entirely out of place: runners which peeked out of his tantalizingly airy trousers. A rather fetching belt looped itself several times around his trim waist. Despite the flowing, relaxed quality of the outfit in total, the belt accentuated the elegant lines of his body.

He should have been the model here, not Wei Ying; Wei Ying just knew people and experienced a bit of right place, right time. Even his features, perfectly stern and controlled, would fit on a runway or in an editorial.

It made Wei Ying want to pull Lan Zhan’s hair from its sleek ponytail and muss the perfect fall of it with every ounce of respect at his disposal.

Which was to say, he very much did not do so, holding his hands behind his back as he swept up to Lan Zhan, who was busy consulting a notebook that was covered in a lot of elegantly written notes.

“What are we doing today, Lan Zhan?” Wei Ying slid close and peered over Lan Zhan’s shoulder. Lan Zhan didn’t flinch or react at all, like he’d known all along that Wei Ying would disrupt his day.

“Nothing that concerns you,” he replied, which should have sounded dickish on the face of it, but the words were spoken so mildly that Wei Ying couldn’t help being charmed instead. “I’m afraid I don’t have time to assist with any further purchases.”

“Aiya, Lan Zhan. Your assistance was so perfect already. Who would need more?” Wei Ying backed up a step, not wanting to come on any stronger than he was, especially given what he wanted to say. His mother would mock him for it if nothing else. “I just wanted to thank you if you have the time.”

“I do not.” Then, “Thank me?”

Wei Ying rolled his eyes, fond. “My mother loved the perfume! I am appropriately appreciative.” He was appreciative in other ways, too, but he didn’t say as much out loud. That would have been too shameless even for him. “I was hoping I could spring for lunch or drinks or something!”

“I don’t drink.”

“Do you not eat either?” If he could think of another way to show his appreciation, he would do it, but the only thing he knew about Lan Zhan was that he liked perfume. Or worked with it anyway. Buying perfume for him didn’t seem like the best way to go about it. “What do you do?”

The conflicted look that crossed Lan Zhan’s face wasn’t terribly complimentary, but Wei Ying should have been prepared for the possibility that Lan Zhan wouldn’t want to spend any more time with him. He could be a pest, too much for the people around him. The fact that he’d spent days trying to track Lan Zhan down spoke to the parts of him that could be a little too intense for other people.

“I really don’t have the time right now,” Lan Zhan said eventually to Wei Ying’s unsurprised disappointment. Then, he stopped and considered and seemed to make a decision. “But we can exchange contact information. When I’m freer, I would go out with you.”

Go out with me, Wei Ying thought. And then: oh. Oh. Oh, that was… even better than Wei Ying was expecting, maybe? “Like a date?” He tried to keep his tone casual, but if he was being honest, he was kind of excited about the possibility. Not that he wouldn’t like to be friends with Lan Zhan, too. He was interesting in a way that most people Wei Ying knew weren’t. But a date? Wow. “I could take you on a date?”

“If you would like.”

“What would you like?”

Lan Zhan’s gaze skimmed over his body, leaving him feeling a little flushed, a little aroused, a little bit like he was going to go home and make use of this sensation as quickly as humanly possible. “It can be a date, I suppose.”

Ah, Lan Zhan. Making it difficult on Wei Ying already, forcing him to work for it. And the best part was Wei Ying liked that about him. The implied challenge of it was tantalizing. It didn’t just make Wei Ying want to take Lan Zhan on a date, it made him want to take Lan Zhan out on the best date.

He had no idea what that might be, but he was sure he’d be able to figure it out. Besides, if they started messaging one another, Wei Ying might be able to find out more. “Great!” They exchanged Wechat IDs. “I’ll message you.”

“Mn,” Lan Zhan agreed, not quite distracted, but clearly ready to move on to what he should have been doing. Wei Ying had so many questions, but even he had to have some limits. With a way to contact Lan Zhan, he didn’t have to milk this opportunity for everything it could offer.

“You can message me, too, if you want.” But maybe he could milk a little bit.

“Thank you,” Lan Zhan replied, with so much grace and dignity that it almost didn’t matter if he was being brushed off or not.

After exchanging goodbyes, Wei Ying walked away, unable to stop himself from thinking about exactly what he would do to impress Lan Zhan. It was a fun diversion, totally worth the fact that he’d have to stay up even later to complete his school work thanks to the time he’d invested in this little project.

Lan Zhan probably wouldn’t have agreed that it was worth it, but that was okay. He didn’t have to know anything about Wei Ying’s dreams and plans.

Now

“Wei Ying?”

Of the things Lan Zhan expected to see as he was walking to Gentian House, Wei Ying’s ass hanging from a tree branch was rather low on the list. Not an impossibility, to be sure—this was Wei Ying after all—but not expected either.

It was truly a remarkable example of human anatomy. Lan Zhan would recognize it anywhere.

“Ah!” Wei Ying called, slipping slightly. Whether it was in surprise or not was immaterial, because Lan Zhan rushed forward. His arms stretched up to brace Wei Ying by the waist. Beneath his hands, it was warm and solid, fit in his palms exactly the way it used to. Or maybe Lan Zhan could fit more of it than he used to.

Wei Ying did seem thinner.

And then Wei Ying waved his phone around and the fake shutter sound of the camera went off. Swiping something from the branch and pocketing it, all while practically dangling by one arm—when did he develop all that upper body strength, Lan Zhan wondered, not at all idly—he dropped the scant meter that separated him from the ground and turned in Lan Zhan’s grasp.

He let go. Barely.

And only realized, with Wei Ying smiling down at him from his handful of centimeters’ height advantage, how very, very close they were. “Lan Zhan!” His gaze fell to where Lan Zhan’s hands were this close to touching Wei Ying’s waist again. “My hero.”

“Foolish,” Lan Zhan said, applicable to both of them. He took a step back and brushed at the sleeve of his cardigan, so light and delicately patterned that it was practically transparent. He liked this cardigan, but he wished he’d worn something a little more substantial when Wei Ying’s hand briefly cupped his elbow in a warm squeeze. “What were you doing up there?”

Wei Ying grinned and waved his phone around again and Lan Zhan was hit with the intimately familiar scent of his own perfume on Wei Ying’s skin. And not just any of them. When he showed Lan Zhan the picture of mo(u)rning nestled in that tree branch, he was not in the least bit surprised.

It smelled… really, really good on him. Just as Lan Zhan might have guessed when he came up with the formula, just as he might have hoped if he had allowed himself to have any hopes at all.

“I’m taking your perfume on an adventure around the neighborhood,” he answered, breezy, no doubt unaware of the effect he was having on Lan Zhan. “The contract said I’m supposed to make a few posts, but I didn’t want it to just be some generic boilerplate about how wonderful it is and blah blah blah. I mean—” Wei Ying lifted his hands. “They are wonderful, of course, but I figured… you hired me, so that means there’s some leeway for…” He smiled mischievously. “Foolishness. Right?”

“It’s not…” Lan Zhan dragged his hand through his hair and took a step back, like distance had ever helped. “That was a poor choice of words on my part.”

Wei Ying’s smile brightened even further.

“I appreciate what you’re doing for Gentian House. I would just not have you hurt in the process.”

“Ah, Lan Zhan. It wouldn’t have been that far to fall.”

Lan Zhan frowned. “Even so.”

A soft, complicated expression crossed Wei Ying’s feature, there and gone, so ephemeral as to make Lan Zhan’s chest ache. “Lan Zhan, that’s sweet even for you. What am I supposed to do with that much sweetness?”

He ducked his head and then showed Lan Zhan a few more of the pictures. They were very charming, especially once Wei Ying began narrating the journey, grandiosely describing what for anyone else might have been a normal daily walk.

In a way, that was what Lan Zhan tried to do with his scents: make something that was rather ordinary feel like something greater. Wei Ying had somehow hit on something in his work that he hadn’t been able to articulate for himself. It was meant to bring a little mystery or romance or whimsy into a person’s life, whatever they needed to make it feel larger than it was.

He still didn’t like that Wei Ying risked his safety, but he appreciated these shots anyway as he flicked through them.

“So, what do you think? Will I be an embarrassment to the contract if I post these?”

“No. They’re wonderful.” The praise fell easily from his mouth, startling him with how true and how earnestly he believed it.

Wei Ying’s laugh was beautiful, too, if self-conscious.

“Lan Zhan, don’t be so nice to me.” He wagged his finger in Lan Zhan’s face for good measure. “You don’t know what might happen if you are.”

What might happen, Lan Zhan wondered, thoughts whirling kilometers ahead of him, imagining things that were no longer possible and he shouldn’t have wanted anyway. Wei Ying was being kind to him, charming, the way he always was, and the fact that he didn’t scorn Lan Zhan was more than he deserved. No matter how much he might have ached to undo the damage he’d so unwisely done when he was young enough to know better, but not yet old enough to stand his ground, there was no going back.

When Lan Zhan didn’t respond, Wei Ying, a little subdued, added, “I’m only teasing, Lan Zhan. You’re always nice.”

That… wasn’t true at all and he wanted to deny it because Wei Ying was just being ridiculous now. Wei Ying had no reason to behave in such a friendly manner. There was no good motivation for him to tease or try to be friends in this way. He had no reason to put himself through any trouble at all for Gentian House or Lan Zhan. Any bland post he made could have fulfilled the contract, an insincere note about how great the scents were, quick to dash off and easier to ignore.

But for whatever reason, he cared enough to tote one of the bottles of perfumes around and play with it in the hopes of coming up with something joyful to share with the platform he’s built over the years.

It had been a long time since it felt like anyone cared about Gentian House besides himself and, to a lesser extent, Luo Qingyang. Lan Huan tried, but he also spent so much time acting as the buffer between Lan Zhan and their uncle that Lan Zhan was rather certain he’d soured his brother on ever truly wishing the company well. Another thing to regret in this whole mess: though he wanted Gentian House, had dreamed of it, he never would have expected this would be the cost.

“Wei Ying,” he said, serious. There was nothing Lan Zhan needed more in this moment than for Wei Ying to truly understand how much this meant to him. “Thank you.”

Wei Ying’s cheeks flushed pink and he nodded quickly as he stared at the ground. “You don’t have to thank me, Lan Zhan.”

But he did. He really did owe Wei Ying for everything he’s done so far. Thanks was the very least of what Wei Ying deserved for supporting him in this way.

“Since you’re here and I’m here…” Wei Ying started to say. “Well, I don’t know how busy you are, but—”

“I’m returning to Gentian House. I… if you would care to come along, I have some time.” This wasn’t quite true, but Lan Zhan wouldn’t say no to seeing more of Wei Ying.

“Great! I thought we could discuss the collaboration anyway. The, uh, perfume part. How soon should we—?”

Never? Right this minute, all of Wei Ying’s or Lan Zhan’s obligations be damned? Sweeping his hand to indicate the sidewalk, Lan Zhan began walking again. Gentian House was very close by. Did Wei Ying know that? “Whenever you wish. I would like to have a prototype for you to approve before you—” When he gave up Wei Ying, he gave up the right to regret this, too, the need for him to go again so soon. “Before you go.”

“That soon? You know you don’t need my approval, right?”

It would be a tight timeframe. Lan Zhan didn’t care. He’d already begun to take notes. There would be more of them to add before this afternoon was through. “Regardless, that is what I want.”

“Okay, so maybe we can walk and talk?” Wei Ying carefully placed the perfume in his jacket pocket, but unceremoniously shoved his phone in his pants.

“Of course. I can show you around.”

For a long while, Wei Ying didn’t say anything, just strode next to Lan Zhan, companionable enough, almost as though they were friends, almost as though they were something more. Lan Zhan didn’t mind the warm silence between them. They used to walk together often on days like this. And then Wei Ying sighed and stopped. “Lan Zhan, you really don’t have to include me in all this, this…” He waved his hand around. Though they were still a couple of blocks from Gentian House, Wei Ying gestured in its direction. “This. I’ll stamp my name on whatever you want to do. I don’t need to be involved. You don’t have to welcome me into your space.”

Lan Zhan was still trying to come up with a response when Wei Ying spoke again.

“I’m sorry you’re having to do this at all.” He stared down at his hands. “I know how much you dreamed about doing something like this. It must be pretty annoying to feel like you need help.” Scrubbing at the back of his head, he finally looked up again. “And it’s kind of shit your family doesn’t want to support you.”

“That’s—” He couldn’t talk about this, not in the middle of the sidewalk. Wei Ying trailed after him as he resumed his stride. “I’ve embarrassed them and myself. They’ve done much for me over the years. I haven’t always been grateful.”

“Yeah, but…”

“The price I paid for Gentian House was standing alone with it. I’ve made peace with that.”

The problem was how much he didn’t want to stand on his own. He wanted his uncle’s support and his brother’s. He wanted to have been able to work with Cloud Recesses to do amazing, innovative things instead of throwing money at them to beg for the use of the labs so he could do it by himself. He did want Gentian House, yes. He did want to stop chasing briefs and working to the specs of creative directors who didn’t want anything except other people’s scents repeated endlessly until they were meaningless. Those were all things he wanted.

He did not want his uncle to be upset with him. He hated that his brother was forced to act as an intermediary.

“What happened anyway? Why did you…?”

They reached an intersection and rounded the corner. Gentian House was just a few shops down. “We’re here.”

“Lan Zhan…”

“I appreciate everything you’re doing for me,” he said, slow and considered, blatantly ignoring Wei Ying’s question, “and I would like to have your input. Your name is associated with it, too.”

Wei Ying blew out a breath. His eyes carried a knowing glint in them. “Okay, Lan Zhan. Suit yourself. I’ll do my best for you!”

“Have you eaten?” Lan Zhan asked, as he ushered him inside. “I know it’s a little late, but you’d be welcome to join me.”

“Y…” And then Wei Ying looked at him, considering. It made Lan Zhan nervous, more nervous than an invitation to lunch should have. “I could eat.”

“Mn. Feel free to browse. I’ll take care of the food.”

Luo Qingyang raised her eyebrow as he slipped past her into the back, but he trusted her to keep an eye on things for a little while longer. And anyway, she’d forgive him once he returned with her favorite takeout from the Thai place down the street.

His and Wei Ying’s Thai place. From way back. It probably wasn’t the best idea, but Lan Zhan felt weak and nostalgic and couldn’t quite help himself. Wei Ying would just have to forgive him if it bothered him at all.

When he returned, laden down with two bags that he deposited in his office and one that he brought to the small break room for Luo Qingyang, he figured nothing much could have happened in the interim. He wasn’t gone long after all and Wei Ying wasn’t the mischief-maker he used to be.

And then he stepped out front and found himself confronted by—

“Wei Ying?”

—a lot of people, more than Lan Zhan had seen in Gentian House at one time. And Wei Ying at the center of them. Smiling, laughing, all charm. They stood near the display for mo(u)rning and Wei Ying was… lovely. Through the morass, Wei Ying noticed Lan Zhan’s reappearance and caught his eye from above the heads of the people around him. In explanation, he raised his phone, mouthed, made the post. Or at least that was what Lan Zhan thought he saw.

A little fearful, he asked Luo Qingyang, “Is everything okay here?”

“I think so,” she replied.

He asked what happened, but what he really wanted to know was how and why.

Luo Qingyang shrugged. “He said he was going to make a post? And then he did? And now you’ve got… that.” Her gaze searched his face. “You were gone for awhile. I think he got bored just looking around. What took so long anyway?”

Lan Zhan didn’t flush. “Restaurant was busy.” Only a small lie. He maybe needed time to collect himself, too. “I left your food in the break room.”

Though Wei Ying kept trying to work his way out from behind the semicircle of fans arrayed around him, they didn’t seem interested in letting him go. They weren’t demanding or particularly rude about it, but Lan Zhan was impatient. Before Lan Zhan could walk over, however, Wei Ying laughed and said, “Okay, okay. I do have some business to attend to with my lovely friend over here. It was good to meet all of you.”

To their credit, too, they were gracious as he finally extricated himself.

Lan Zhan couldn’t help the flare of pleasure within him to see so many people disappointed to discover Lan Zhan was important enough for them to be left behind. It was a petty emotion and he was better than it, but the vast majority of his emotional landscape devoted itself to cultivating anger at the display. Why would Wei Ying just casually chat with fans like that? Wasn’t he putting himself at risk?

As soon as they were in the back, Wei Ying sighed. “I don’t know what people see in models, Lan Zhan. I really don’t. I just—stand around. It’s not like that takes any skill. At least when I work abroad I have to, like, strut around.”

“From my understanding, you’re very astute online.” He clenched his jaw to keep the rest of his words locked away. “Is it any wonder that others are interested?”

Lan Zhan was just about to open the door to his office when Wei Ying laughed and asked, “Who told you that?”

“Nie Huaisang.”

“Oh, my god. Lan Zhan, I post dumb little videos to keep myself from getting bored when I’m working. That’s not astute, that’s just me keeping myself entertained. That’s not why you hired me, is it?”

“No.” Again, Lan Zhan didn’t flush.

“I mean, it’s okay if it is. I could do that for you if you’d like. A whole series of them even.”

“That’s unnecessary.”

“But—”

“Wei Ying, you’re doing enough already.” The words were spoken snappishly even for him and he regretted them immediately. “Let’s eat.”

Sharply, he gestured Wei Ying back into his office, where the smell of the Thai food was much more prominent. Tamarind and lime scented the air, mingled with the heat of the dishes he’d ordered for Wei Ying, as spicy as they would make them, and for right now it was a lovely smell. Later, it would probably turn greasy the way food scents always tended to no matter their providence. The same thing happened with the bakery next door. If he spent too long in the lab at the wrong time of day, he’d catch whiffs of whatever they were making and sometimes it lingered.

Wei Ying poked through the stack of containers, hunting out his with almost terrifying accuracy given that Lan Zhan might have…

He might have bought several containers too many if he was being honest.

In fairness to him, there were about four different dishes on the menu that Wei Ying used to lose his mind over.

“Wow, are you trying to feed an entire army?” Wei Ying asked, already taking advantage of the space by pulling from the corner of the room the single chair Lan Zhan kept for guests on the rare occasion he had guests in his office. Wei Ying dragged it over one-handed. “What are you going to do with all this?”

He hadn’t figured that part out yet. There were perhaps any number of things he could do with them that didn’t involve throwing it out. “If you have anyone at home, you can take what remains to them.”

It sounded awkward to say that, but he couldn’t take the words back now that he’s said them. He wasn’t intentionally fishing for information about his life these days, but it sure sounded like it based on the way he’d said that.

Wei Ying’s face lit up. “Wen Yuan would enjoy it!”

Lan Zhan didn’t ask who Wen Yuan was. It wasn’t his business even though the name invoked… unpleasantness. “Then please, by all means.”

“You’re really kind,” Wei Ying said, a little too thoughtful.

I’m not, Lan Zhan didn’t say. Someone who was kind wouldn’t be so disappointed to hear how happy Wei Ying sounded while saying someone else’s name.

“As a matter of fact, Wen Ning and Wen Qing would probably also not mind a break from cooking. Are you sure…? What about your brother or Luo Qingyang out there?”

Everything except for one dish was too spicy for himself and Lan Huan. “I already gave Luo Qingyang her order.”

“Ah, Lan Zhan, see: so thoughtful and courteous.”

“Who are…?” That was a lot of Wens. And it didn’t follow that they were Wen-Wens, but… “Wen Qing and Wen Ning?”

Wei Ying’s brows furrowed as he slurped noodles into his mouth and then his eyes widened and he chewed viciously. “Oh, um. Not like Wen Xu or those Wens. Well, I mean, yes, technically. They’re distant cousins, but they… broke with the family. We all live together as roommates. Wen Yuan’s their younger cousin and… they’re not like Wen Ruohan and his asshole kids and they don’t benefit from that relationship. Sorry. I should have said. The Wen Fragrance Group branch of the Wen family are very firmly not welcome in my house.”

Lan Zhan was not a big enough person to admit he was relieved. He wasn’t even a big enough person to admit he was relieved for entirely the wrong reason. “Roommates?”

“Who wants to pay rent all on their own, right?” Wei Ying frowned. “They kind of got screwed. By Wen Ruohan. I was around to witness it and it wasn’t pretty, so I wanted to help. I’m not out there making a mint every time I do a job, but I get by better than okay these days. They pay what they can and I don’t have to chew through my entire savings trying to keep an apartment that I don’t really want, but kind of need. It works for us? They’re great and Wen Yuan’s the nicest kid you’ll ever meet. With them and my mom and granny, it’s nice and cozy. You should—”

He stopped himself and Lan Zhan longed to know what he meant to say. “What?”

Wei Ying’s hesitation was brief, but felt like it took forever. “—you’d be welcome to come over if you ever wanted to.”

It was, Lan Zhan thought, Wei Ying who was the kind one and now Lan Zhan knew he had iron-clad principles. Most people in their respective industries accepted that the Wens had to be dealt with, but there were at least some who would probably look askance at Wei Ying for associating willingly with any of them, distant branch or not. It was surprising, in fact, that Wei Ying didn’t face worse reprisals simply for doing so.

“Anyway, we’re not here to talk about me, right?” Wei Ying said, between another bite of noodles. There was a complicated expression on his face as he pondered his meal.

Lan Zhan sat on his side of the desk and poked at his own meal, delicately eating a few bean sprouts while he considered. He would very much have enjoyed talking about Wei Ying should he have wished it.

“Okay,” Wei Ying said, features clearing before Lan Zhan could say anything. He took another bite of his food and stared at the ceiling, deep in thought, chewing and swallowing. “So I know we’re supposed to talk about the perfume, but while I was waiting for you, I had an idea.”

“Was it better than risking your safety with your fans out there?”

“What?”

Lan Zhan sighed. It wasn’t like something bad had happened anyway. “Nothing. Never mind. You had an idea?”

Wei Ying frowned and his eyebrows furrowed. “Yeah, I uh… about the event.”

“The event?”

“Yeah, the contract stipulates that you’ve got me for an event to take place at Gentian House. Usually it’s something along the lines of ‘oh, meet that moderately attractive public persona and also see all the cool stuff that persona is shilling for profit.’”

“Oh, that event.”

“I was thinking…” He was back to twisting his chopsticks between his fingers.

What had happened to Wei Ying that made him this unwilling to just blurt out whatever he wished to? Was it entirely because of what had happened back then? Was he just this way with Lan Zhan? Was there anything Lan Zhan could do to stop him from doing this?

Did he have the right to want it to stop?

Maybe if they spent more time together, Wei Ying would get on with it and go back to how Lan Zhan remembered him being.

“I would like to hear it,” Lan Zhan said.

Wei Ying’s cheeks pinked and he ducked his head for a moment. “I feel like I’m taking over your whole project, Lan Zhan. You can tell me to shut up at any point, you know.”

“You know more about how all of this works than I do,” Lan Zhan pointed out. “I will tell you if I don’t like any of your suggestions.”

“Are you sure? I’m not just railroading you into something you don’t want to do?”

Lan Zhan shook his head. In all honesty, he appreciated how much of an interest Wei Ying was showing. It was flattering. It did feel good even if he also felt bad that Wei Ying was feeling bad. And, in truth, he wasn’t the expert here. “Please continue.”

“So, the things I’ve done in the past are… chaotic. Not at all in keeping with the vibe of Gentian House. Just lines and lines of people and silly gift bags and taking photos and little games. I figure you’re not trying to reach as many people as possible and don’t much care if you only drag in my… fans.” He stopped for a moment, cringing almost at the word. “So I was thinking you could limit the number of people who could attend, thus conferring a bit of exclusivity to it, and you could demarcate separate ways to gain attendance.”

“Attendance to…?”

“A perfume seminar! Or, maybe a few. Just an hour or so long throughout the day? Half of the seats per session could be raffled out to anyone and half could go to die-hard perfume people? Like, set up some kind of quiz to test them and then pick at random from that pool? That way you can get the excitement of bringing in me, teach people about Gentian House and perfume who might otherwise not bother learning about it, and you can reach out to your target demographic as well.”

That was… actually an interesting idea.

“How did you come up with that?”

“Sometimes, I just can’t shut my own brain up,” Wei Ying answered, joking, but in the way that suggested it wasn’t far from the truth either. “Anyway, what do you think?”

I think you’ve put a lot of thought into this, Lan Zhan thought, and I really don’t deserve it.

“I think it’s a good idea.”

“Cool! I’ll tell Nie Huaisang and he’ll work whatever magic he needs to to get it set up.”

Lan Zhan nodded, still off-balanced by Wei Ying’s generosity. How many other people would do all this for their ex? He suspected there weren’t many. And he… he needed to know. “Wei Ying, I…”

Wei Ying watched him expectantly.

“Why are you doing all of this?” Oh, it was difficult to get the words out, but got them he did. “You don’t have to—even by the contract’s standards, this is too much for me.”

Wei Ying’s lips took on a stubborn slant and he shook his head. “No, it’s not. I like helping and I’m happy to do it, so it can’t be too much.”

“Wei Ying…”

“What?”

“Nobody else would do this.”

“Oh, so just because nobody would do it, I have to follow along? Because everyone else is so reasonable, I should pattern my behavior on theirs? If it was too much, I would say so, but this is fun. It’s the most fun I’ve had in a long time on a job. You actually listen to me and involve me in the process. Do you know how rare that is? If it helps to think of it in another way, then think of it like this, too. You’re doing me as much of a favor as I am you. Otherwise I’d have to take yet another job where the most thought I’m putting into it is which way I tilt my head.”

“Oh.”

“But I really also do want to help you,” Wei Ying said. “Just so we’re perfectly clear.”

His heartbeat fluttered against his sternum, made him feel shy, nervous. “I would say that’s very clear.”

Wei Ying smiled. “So we’re good?”

Lan Zhan nodded. If he could truly believe that Wei Ying was getting something out of this, too, even something as small as a modicum of professional satisfaction, then he could accept what Wei Ying was doing for him. “Yes.”

“Great!” He resumed eating as though nothing had happened, though not with as much relish as Lan Zhan might have expected despite his words. “Oh, and thanks for getting this. I’ve had a craving for such a long time. It’s nice having it again with you.”

Lan Zhan was pretty sure he was going to die, Wei Ying’s words would slay him, and it was entirely his own fault.

The seminar was going well even by Wei Ying’s outsized hopes and expectations. He knew a lot of the components would be fine: low numbers would be more comfortable for Lan Zhan, Wei Ying’s fans did tend toward the gentle and respectful as he refused to put up with any sort of nonsense, and Lan Zhan was a great, engaging teacher, though he might not have looked the part. He’d been a little iffy on the bit where posting to social media was so heavily promoted—gotta encourage the people, Wei Ying, said Nie Huaisang—if only because Lan Zhan was such a private individual, but Nie Huaisang was keeping an eye on the feeds and Wei Ying trusted nothing much could go wrong there if he was handling it.

Not that any of them intended to do anything that allowed bad things to be said, but it was always better to be on top of it in case there was trouble brewing. After all, just as Wei Ying had fans, he had people who disdained him no matter what he did, and Lan Zhan, right now, definitely had people who were less than impressed with him. Wen Ning was there to keep an eye out, too, though he’d be leaving as soon as the last session was done.

But, for the most part, everything was running smoothly. In fact, it really was a lot of fun to sit in on the sessions between the informal meet and greets with Wei Ying and it seemed like everyone else enjoyed it, too, even those who seemed really only to be there for Wei Ying at first.

Wandering amidst his fans like this, watching them attentively watching Lan Zhan, it was fantastic. Almost as good as watching the perfume geeks fawning with even more fervor over Lan Zhan’s remarks. Even Lan Zhan seemed to bloom once he got his feet under him during the second session. His words came more quickly and carried more warmth. The questions, when they came, did not faze him.

By the end of it, he was pretty sure most of them turned into converts, swayed by Lan Zhan’s superior beauties and charm and deeply lovely voice as he taught them techniques to better hone their sense of smell and appreciate perfumes to an even greater degree than they already did. It was nothing Wei Ying hadn’t learned better and more privately, but it was still nice—comfortable in the way wearing an old, beloved t-shirt was comfortable—to learn it all over again, even if not in the way he would have preferred.

In truth, it would be easy to let himself fall into old feelings. These days, despite Lan Zhan’s circumstances, he seemed far more confident than the Lan Zhan Wei Ying used to know. Not that Lan Zhan wasn’t confident in the past, but there was a settled quality to Lan Zhan’s personality that was entirely enchanting to Wei Ying.

But.

But he couldn’t allow himself to do so. Even if Lan Zhan might be willing… he couldn’t be hurt like that again, couldn’t bear the thought of losing Lan Zhan’s affections to his work a second time. And anyway, he had a life, too, now and expectations. It wasn’t fair to try dredging old feelings for a fresh start under those circumstances.

Their time with one another had passed. He could be friends with Lan Zhan instead. That could be enough.

As the last of the final group finished up, most of them took the opportunity to peruse Lan Zhan’s perfumes, chatting quietly to one another or taking pictures of the beautiful displays. Wei Ying slipped between the various clusters of people toward the back. He intended to find Lan Zhan and congratulate him, maybe check with Nie Huaisang to see how they did on socmed.

Instead, the door chimed to announce a new arrival.

Though they’d never met officially, there was no mistaking who it was merely from his bearing: Lan Zhan’s brother. Confusion showed on his face as he took in the chaotic scene around him. Wei Ying searched his memory for the man’s name and called out. “Lan Huan!” Loping over, he smiled. “Lan Huan, hi. I’m—”

“Wei Ying?” Lan Huan’s eyes narrowed as he searched Wei Ying’s face. “What are you doing here? Where’s my brother?”

“Uh, in the back. I can take you to him.” He had no reason to answer the other question. Why he was here was his own business—and Lan Zhan’s.

“Please.” Lan Huan was too polite to truly be curt, but Wei Ying was a little surprised by the sharp undertone. That didn’t stop him from asking, “What’s going on here?”

“Lan Zhan put on a perfume seminar.” Wei Ying tilted his head. “Did he not tell you?”

“No. I’m afraid my brother has been very tight-lipped about many things with me of late.” He gave Wei Ying another look. “It’s good to finally meet you.”

“Likewise,” Wei Ying answered, dubious. “Anyway, he’s, uh… back there with Nie Huaisang somewhere.”

Though Wei Ying didn’t intend to snoop, he followed Lan Huan back and maybe, just a little bit, hovered. He figured since Nie Huaisang was there, greeting Lan Huan like an old friend, it couldn’t be an invasion of privacy. And then, traitor that he was, Nie Huaisang said goodbye and came out front, grimacing at Wei Ying. “Hey,” Nie Huaisang said, “you wanna get out of here?”

Wei Ying shook his head.

“Suit yourself,” Nie Huaisang said, dubious. “Huan-ge looks upset about something. Be, uh, careful?”

“Well,” Wei Ying muttered. “That’s not ominous.”

Nie Huaisang flipped his hand over his shoulder as he wandered out, seemingly unaffected. Meanwhile, concern bubbled within Wei Ying. He obviously didn’t know Lan Huan, but Nie Huaisang did. If he said Lan Huan was upset, then Wei Ying was willing to trust that. What Wei Ying couldn’t guess was why and what it had to do with Lan Zhan.

A moment ago, he’d been okay with eavesdropping a little bit, but now—especially with Nie Huaisang gone—that felt a little underhanded. And he honestly wanted to be there with Lan Zhan if Lan Huan intended to upset Lan Zhan with… whatever. Whatever this was.

Maybe… maybe he could just slip into the back. Lan Zhan could tell him to go if he wanted him to.

Scuffing his shoes across the floor to ensure they heard him, he smiled and waved a little. Though Lan Huan sighed ever so slightly, Lan Zhan stared for a long moment in what might have been gratitude and nodded once. Wei Ying could stay.

“A-Zhan, must I really?” Lan Huan said, also aware. “Is that what you want?”

“You may speak in front of him,” Lan Zhan replied.

Lan Huan pinched the bridge of his nose. “I just don’t understand why you won’t let us help you.”

Wei Ying twitched with the urge to speak. He could think of plenty of reasons why Lan Zhan might turn down others’ help.

“There’s nothing to understand, ge. I made a decision—” He paused, collecting himself maybe. “—and now I have to deal with the consequences of it.”

“But—”

“But if I take your assistance, then I’ll never…” His gaze darted to Wei Ying’s face, flicked away, settled again on him. Squaring his shoulders, he returned his attention to his brother. “In truth, I think my decision was made long ago. It’s only taken this long to catch up with me.”

It was Lan Huan’s turn to look at Wei Ying, imploring. The question, when it came, wasn’t one he expected to hear. “Do you think you’re really helping him like this? What happens when you leave and he doesn’t have your fans to shore him up any longer?”

Wei Ying sucked in a breath, opened his mouth to answer, found he didn’t have one. All the oxygen was stolen from him, along with his words. A sucker punch might have hurt less. It took every ounce of his self-control to keep the only thought in his head from expressing itself: I never wanted to leave to begin with. “I—”

“Wei Ying has done nothing wrong here,” Lan Zhan said, as cold as Wei Ying had ever heard him.

Blinking away the prickling sensation behind his eyes, he tried again. He didn’t want to attack Lan Zhan’s brother, but… “What makes you think I’m going anywhere?”

The words, as soon as they’re out of his mouth, sound foolish even to his own ears. Of course he’ll have to go. Their contract—the part of it that made it easy for them to see one another anyway—will be up as soon as Lan Zhan finalizes his formula. After that point, Lan Zhan won’t have any reason to welcome him into his life. And that was leaving aside the fact that he was expected in Milan two short weeks from now.

Because his words were so childishly reactive, Lan Huan rightfully ignored them.

“A-Zhan, do you know how difficult it is to run a niche perfume company all on your own like this? Do you even realize—? It’s not as simple as—”

“Nothing about what I’ve done is simple, ge. I know that. Even so, I’ve committed to this path.”

“Very well,” Lan Huan said, mournful. Wei Ying knew before he said anything that something bad was coming. Another pause, like he didn’t want to say it at all and then, a rush: “Uncle says going forward you will be disallowed from using lab resources for your own work or any other contract work might manage to find.” He didn’t have to explain how unlikely that was. “I have tried my best to bring him around, but…”

There was no demonstrable difference in Lan Zhan’s expression. Few others would have known what it meant at all, the slight twitch of his mouth as the muscle in his cheek jumped. But Wei Ying knew and so it didn’t surprise him all that much when Lan Zhan’s reply came out a little shaky. “I pay Cloud Recesses for the use of its labs and resources.” His hands tightened into fists below the table. “I don’t take anything from it that hasn’t been purchased fairly. He’s never taken issue with other independent creators doing the same as long as the materials and staff costs are accounted for.”

That was half of the point of Cloud Recesses from Wei Ying’s understanding. Theirs was a learning environment, a place for perfumers to hone their crafts. Rare talents were sometimes assimilated into the company proper, became full staff at Cloud Recesses and thereby earned the right to take on the best briefs the industry could offer, but Lan Qiren had never been so proprietary that he wasn’t willing to open his doors for others.

It was only his own family that couldn’t have that same freedom apparently.

“I know,” Lan Huan agreed. “I’m as unhappy about uncle’s decision as you are.”

“Are you?”

The question earned Lan Zhan a narrow-eyed glance and thinned lips. “Is it so strange I’d be upset for you? Or do you believe we are of one mind in all things?”

In all the ways that mattered, Wei Ying believed, yes, they were.

“I know you’re not.” Lan Zhan’s words didn’t surprise Wei Ying as much as he expected them to. He’d always abided by his family’s wishes. “I’m sorry you feel forced to advocate for me with him.” Gesturing toward the front of the store, he inclined his head. “You needn’t do so. I’ll manage.”

“You’ll manage?”

“I’ll manage,” he repeated. “Tell uncle…” Another fraught silence while Lan Zhan bowed his head. “…that I am grateful, as always, for his teachings.”

Generally speaking, Wei Ying wasn’t very good at comforting other people, especially people like Lan Zhan, who was his one and only ex of any real note. His mother was incredible in many ways, but her way of interacting with people could be odd and that had rubbed off on him. It was only after having lived for years with the Wens that he knew how to comfort them—though, admittedly, he’d been kind of a toddler whisperer with Wen Yuan and that had been very cool—and Jiang Cheng wasn’t really in the business of wanting comfort. If and when Jiang Yanli was in need of comfort, it wasn’t Wei Ying she came to.

So. That, uh, left him a little… bereft? Once Lan Huan was gone, Wei Ying wasn’t sure what to do.

“Lan Zhan…” He took a cautious step forward and then another and a third. When Lan Zhan didn’t stop him, he grew bold, pressed his hand to Lan Zhan’s shoulder. Though he flinched at the contact, he turned into the touch a second later. “How screwed are you?”

He didn’t expect an answer and wasn’t surprised when one wasn’t forthcoming. That didn’t make it any easier to accept.

“Okay, Lan Zhan,” he said, agreeable, warm to counter the frost in the air. “Why don’t I get this all cleaned up out front? You can hang out back here or…?” Maybe he’d come out and spend time with Wei Ying while he worked. It was possible he could cheer him up that way.

“Wei Ying, you don’t have to stay,” Lan Zhan said, like that was an option.

“Oh, I’m staying. You’ll have to tell me to get out if you want me to go.” He swallowed. “And you’re not going to do that, right?”

“No! No, I—” His head bowed again, something Wei Ying didn’t like seeing at all. “I couldn’t tell you that.”

Warmth unfurled in his chest. At least that was one thing he didn’t have to worry about.

Between the two of them, it didn’t take long to get everything cleaned up. Lan Zhan focused on packing up the various bottles into little crates that would be returned to his lab while Wei Ying focused on plucking up the various pieces of paper strewn about. The scent of so many different oils and alcohols filled the air, thick enough almost to make Wei Ying’s head swim.

That, at least, was going to be the excuse he used in a minute if Lan Zhan looked at him like he was crazy. It was just—Lan Zhan was quiet, too quiet, even for him and his features were the sort of blank that hid a storm and not his normal, placid blankness.

He didn’t want to leave Lan Zhan here all alone just after his uncle and brother effectively… did that constitute being disowned? Probably not, but it still felt like it maybe. It probably felt like it to Lan Zhan with his whole life and career on the line. From across the room, trash bag firmly gripped in a fist, he called, “Lan Zhan!”

Maybe he didn’t hear Wei Ying, too busy cataloguing the bottles, fingers tipping them delicately as he checked off a sheet at his side.

“Lan Zhan!”

Lan Zhan lifted his head finally. “Hm?”

“Come back to my apartment when we’re done,” Wei Ying said, too bold, much too bold, but doing it anyway because he wanted to chase that blankness off his face. “Have dinner with me.” At Lan Zhan’s startled look, he raised his hands. “Not just me. A-Yuan will be home, too, and Wen Ning will be there. Maybe Wen Qing. It’ll be nice, though. Low key.”

He was sure, so sure, that Lan Zhan was going to say no. It looked even like Lan Zhan thought he was going to say no, but to both of their surprise, what he said was, “Yes.” He blinked and frowned and committed beautifully right before his eyes. “I’ll come over.”

Staggered, relieved, grateful. That was what Wei Ying felt. And a matching smile curled at the corner of his mouth. “Lan Zhan,” he said, failing to hide his happiness entirely, “I bet I can get this all cleaned up faster than you can!”

Compared to Wei Ying’s old apartment, this one wasn’t so very different except that it was bigger, came with security at the entrance, and housed a teenager and at least two adults who were laughing as they cooked in a kitchen that was visible from the front door. Music rose from tinny speakers, someone’s phone maybe, and the three of them chattered incessantly. “Wen Ning, you met already. Wen Qing, and Wen Yuan’s our kiddo.” Then he laughed. “Well, he’s seventeen.” Wei Ying nudged him. “Almost as old as we were when we met.”

“Only a few years off,” Lan Zhan agreed, feeling so ancient suddenly for all that he was only thirty-three.

“Yeah, I know that expression,” Wei Ying replied. “Don’t worry. You never get used to feeling it. Anyway. Let’s make some introductions.” He cleared his throat and called out to the gathered up Wens. “Be nice. And when I say be nice, I’m only talking to Qing-jie. Wen Yuan, this is Lan Zhan. You and Wen Ning could probably give Lan Zhan a harder time if you wanted since you’re both too nice.”

They seemed to turn as one, glancing curiously at Lan Zhan. Well, Wen Yuan did. The expression offered by Wen Qing suggested she at the very least knew the truth of what had happened between them. Though he would have liked to assuage her that he didn’t intend to hurt Wei Ying again, he also knew he was in no position to do so. It would be too presumptuous.

“Can we help?” Wei Ying asked, eager, as though trying to cut off any other conversation at the pass. Lan Zhan was relieved to have some of the attention deflected and almost laughed at Wen Qing’s comical scowl.

“No.” She flicked her hand toward the table tucked into a nook in the corner of the room by the window. It looked large enough to accommodate everyone, surprising compared to his own space, where he didn’t even have a table where others might sit and eat. Nobody except him ever visited. “You two sit.” She eyed Lan Zhan again, suspicious. Lan Zhan again couldn’t blame her. “We’re almost done anyway.”

Wen Yuan, so youthful and sweet, smiled at Lan Zhan and bowed his head, bringing over a plate of steamed buns. “It’s nice to meet you,” he said. “Please have some.” He leaned in close and exchanged a glance with Wei Ying, who flushed and looked away. “Don’t mind Qing-jie.” Then he squeezed Wei Ying’s shoulder. “And you should eat, too.”

Lan Zhan ached to see that Wei Ying was cared for and loved like this, ached even more that he hadn’t been here to see it sooner or, more ideally, been a part of it.

It was all well and good to come over to Wei Ying’s apartment—“It’s lovely,” he remembered to say as he prepared to sit on the benches, so quaint, that sat on either side of the table, “your home.”—and it was another to find himself unceremoniously shoved into the wall while Wei Ying crowded in next to him. “Unless you want to sit next to Qing-jie instead?”

Lan Zhan shook his head.

“Maybe Wen Ning then?” Wei Ying prodded.

“This is fine.” His body alighted with the sensation of Wei Ying being so close, close enough that he could smell Gentian House on him, the mingling odors of vanilla and sandalwood and a little bit of rose forming an inelegant, if pretty, morass around him. And then Wei Ying situated himself a few centimeters away, leaving Lan Zhan’s side cold and the rest of him bereft.

“Okay, Lan Zhan.” He pushed the plate of buns toward Lan Zhan. “Then why don’t you eat something while we wait?”

In all, Wen Yuan arrayed a good seven different dishes around the table, so many that there was almost no room to move and Wei Ying’s elbow kept knocking into his whenever he reached for more food or for his drink or offered both more food and more tea to Lan Zhan. It was, quite probably, the most torturous, terrible forty minutes of his life that he would never, ever trade away. It was the sort of experience that would haunt him, twist around in his dreams and become something to torment him with what he couldn’t have.

This was what his life could have been. Though Wen Qing kept throwing him withering looks, the conversation whirling around him was warm and engaged. Wen Yuan was asked about his day and opined enthusiastically about his classes, talked about his friends and studying and looking forward to trying a new recipe.

When he was younger, the dinners he shared with his uncle and brother, though much quieter, felt the same to him, comfortable and inviting. That changed once he opened Gentian House. He’d gotten so used to it that it didn’t even register until now how cold and fraught they were. He missed those earlier times, those strange, fragile, quiet dinners. Even with that thought in mind, his growing happiness, this warmth, couldn’t be dampened so easily.

Wen Yuan’s exuberance was infectious and then his attention fell on Lan Zhan and that infectious exuberance turned to nervousness. “I really enjoy your work, Zhan-ge! Ying-ge let me see the samples that were sent over. I didn’t know…” He fiddled with his napkin and flushed slightly. “I’ve never smelled anything quite like it before. I didn’t know perfume could be like that.”

Lan Zhan’s ears heated. “That means a lot to me.” It was the least of what he could say. Wen Yuan’s words, so kindly meant, so earnest… it was a reminder of why he did this, why Gentian House was important to him and why he wanted to keep doing this in his way and not the way that he’d been taught to do it, the way so many others were perfectly happy and capable of doing it. “Thank you.”

“Would you… would you mind it very much if I came by your shop one of these days?”

“Of course not,” Lan Zhan replied. “I’d be happy to discuss it further with you if you’d like.” His gaze carried over to Wen Qing’s face. He tried to gauge her reaction. It didn’t seem approving exactly, but the ice seemed to have melted a little. “I’m there every day and if I’m not, my coworker, Luo Qingyang will know how to get a hold of me.”

“Lan Zhan’s a very good teacher,” Wei Ying added, leaning into him for a scant moment. “You’ll learn a lot.”

Wen Yuan beamed and even though he didn’t look anything like Wei Ying, Lan Zhan recognized where Wen Yuan learned it.

After dinner was done, Wei Ying got up to help with cleanup. Wen Qing shoved him back onto the bench. “Catch up with your… friend. We can get the dishes.”

From this corner of the room, it was almost like they were entirely alone, only the distant clatter of dishes in the sink and the gentle sound of water splashing against the stainless steel sink. Though Wei Ying pushed himself a little further away, he wound up draping himself across the table, curving a little bit toward Lan Zhan, making it feel more intimate than it was.

“Lan Zhan, how have you been?” He asked this in such a soft, concerned voice that Lan Zhan was sure he’d succumb to it. “Truly?”

He could not tell Wei Ying the truth. It did him no credit after all and it could lead to all sorts of other questions, like if the truth was truly the truth, why didn’t Lan Zhan do anything about it sooner? Because the truth was he’d always missed Wei Ying. It had hurt to be apart from him, so much so that it now hurt to be with him. Hurt filled the empty spaces inside of him; he didn’t know how to be otherwise. “I’ve… managed.”

“Managed?”

“It has been difficult,” he admitted, staring at his hands, so pale against the dark surface of the table, “to forge my own path.”

“It seems lonely.”

It is. “It’s worth it.”

He didn’t realize what he said—it was the thought that drove him forward, the guiding principle of his life, because if he let himself believe it wasn’t, then it would mean this was all for nothing—until he saw the quickly stifled flash of hurt in Wei Ying’s eyes. He turned his head away and cleared his throat. “You’ve made something really special out of it, Lan Zhan. You should remember that if nothing else. I’m glad that you have it and that it was worth it.”

“Wei Ying, I—” Lan Zhan’s phone pinged with a notification. Before starting Gentian House, he had the luxury of ignoring his phone entirely if he wished. Now, anything could be wrong at any moment and he needed to be reachable. “I should deal with this.”

“By all means,” Wei Ying agreed. When he climbed to his feet, Lan Zhan pulled him back down without lifting his eyes from the screen. It was an old habit, an engrained one apparently. Lan Zhan used to pull Wei Ying close all the time.

Lan Zhan froze. Wei Ying froze. Lan Zhan focused so hard on his screen that he couldn’t even read the words at first. And then they registered. “Oh.”

“Oh?” Wei Ying stretched to see and then flinched back. “God, I don’t have to be nosy like that. Sorry, Lan Zhan. Is everything okay?”

No. “It’s fine. I just lost a brief.” He remembered very fondly the days when such an email wouldn’t have left him feeling as though a large hole had just been gouged in his chest. “It happens.”

It happened frequently, in fact. Not every perfumer matched every company or designer’s vision. It was fine. Except for how a future of lost briefs stretched before him. The only bright spot had so far been Wei Ying and the attention his efforts brought to Gentian House and his work there. It counted for so much, but it wouldn’t be enough when he brought his documentation to his accountant and she tutted at him and spelled out just how much he’d have to eke out to survive.

All because nobody wanted to hire a man who wouldn’t bend.

Who could blame them?

“Lan Zhan?” Wei Ying’s voice again was so, so gentle. And why? Why did Wei Ying get to be so gentle after everything Lan Zhan had done?

Standing abruptly, he pushed the bench out of place. Its legs squealed across the floor, startling the Wens and Wei Ying, who swayed a bit in surprise. “Excuse me,” he said. His failure sat, hot and angry, in his chest as he slipped between the small bit of room that opened up for him. After clamoring over, he pushed it back into place. “I—excuse me.”

He made swift work of the distance between that nook and the front door.

“Lan Zhan?”

The door slammed shut behind him. The last thing he heard was Wen Qing calling sharply to Wei Ying, telling him not to follow.

In the end, he must have listened to her, because nobody chased after him.

Lan Zhan couldn’t blame anyone except himself for that either.

Wei Ying knew how to be courteous when the occasion called for it, which was why he waited a respectable twenty hours before he called Nie Huaisang for assistance. “I need Lan Zhan’s number.”.

“You mean you don’t have it already?”

“His number, Huaisang.”

“Why don’t we meet up first? I have something I want to ask you anyway.”

Wei Ying rolled his eyes and knocked on the door to Nie Huaisang’s office in Unclean Realms’s offices. The sound echoed from Nie Huaisang’s end of the line. He liked to pretend he was entirely opaque and inscrutable and in some ways he was, but the truth was everyone knew he spent his afternoons here, actually working while pretending to do the opposite whenever there was a fashion week coming up. And there was always a fashion week somewhere that Nie Huaisang cared to scope out. That meant Nie Huaisang had to be on his best behavior with his brother. “Already here. Unlock your door.”

“Agree you’ll come with me to Shenzh—”

“No. Open up.” Wei Ying was pretty sure he’d been disallowed from ever going back there after the last time Nie Huaisang dragged him along.

“I thought we were friends again.” As he heaved a sigh, his chair squeaked and his clodding step—an affection, of course, gotta make sure Wei Ying knew he was an inconvenience—approached. After waiting only long enough to be petty, he opened the door. “You used to love Shenzhen.”

“No, you love Shenzhen. I kind of like OCAT.” There was only so much art he could contemplate before he got tired of waiting for Nie Huaisang to finish making deals with local designers, though.

“Hi,” Nie Huaisang said, fake annoyed as he waved Wei Ying inside. His gaze sharpened with avarice and intrigue as he poked his head around, searching for signs someone might have seen signs of life from within here. The minute they did, they’d tell Nie Mingjue, and that would mean Nie Huaisang would have to do the work his brother wanted him to do and not the work he wanted. “What brings you to my humble prison?”

Clenching his jaw, Wei Ying plopped himself down in Nie Huaisang’s very cushy chair and kicked his feet up on the desk, heel precariously close to knocking over a stack of papers. “I’m not going to say it again.”

“And again, I’m asking how do you not already have it? What do you do when you see one another?”

“Obviously we don’t talk about exchanging numbers. Huaisang, really, I need to talk to him.”

“You know where he works,” Nie Huaisang pointed out. “You can find him whenever you want.”

“Not helpful,” Wei Ying replied. Fiddling with his phone, he huffed. “I don’t know if he wants to see me. I thought I’d respect that.” But only so far obviously. After he walked out last night—ran the fuck right away—Wei Ying wasn’t sure where they stood, but twenty hours seemed reasonable before sending a message. Especially since Lan Zhan wouldn’t be likely to search out Wei Ying’s number first. And even if he did want to get into contact, it was a lot harder for him to physically reach Wei Ying than the reverse.

“And instead creep around asking little ol’ me for his number? Makes sense. What about searching for him on Weibo or something?”

“You think I didn’t check? Professional accounts only. Everywhere.” Wei Ying leveled a glare his way, a fully justified glare in his opinion. It did nothing to cow Nie Huaisang, of course, but it did make Wei Ying feel better. “I’m just trying not to push my way into his life.” I already did that once. Look where it got me. “Please.”

Sighing, Nie Huaisang made an aggrieved grabby-hands gesture. “What happened anyway?”

“He got kicked while he was down. I wanted to see… well, he didn’t seem too happy yesterday. That’s all.”

“Is this about the briefs?”

Wei Ying nearly strained a muscle pulling his legs off the desk so he could lean into Nie Huaisang’s space instead. He stared at him, watched as he chewed his lip, unwilling to look at Wei Ying. He wanted to hold out, but Nie Huaisang followed his own timeline, could probably outwait Wei Ying on every metric. “Huaisang! What briefs?”

There’s more than one?

“I really don’t know that I should say,” Nie Huaisang said, wary, “if you’re not already aware.”

“How would I be aware?” Wei Ying pushed himself to his feet and paced around a few times before finally planting himself on the edge of the desk right next to Nie Huaisang. “I don’t go around dealing in perfume industry gossip, Huaisang. I barely have time to keep up with the shit in my own. We’re not all you.”

From his seated position, Nie Huaisang was forced to look upward. “Are you going to run off all angry if I tell you?”

“No.” That was a lie. Depending on what it was, he intended to do just that. “Who do you take me for? I don’t get angry. I’m too chill for that.”

“You are the absolute worst and a liar. Twisting my arm like this, Wei Ying, really?” Shoving at Wei Ying, he said, “Give me some space, my god. So, because you aren’t going to get angry, I’ll tell you what I’ve heard.”

Nie Huaisang paused for dramatic effect.

One of these days, Wei Ying was going to strangle him, but today was not that day, because unless one was a necromancer, one couldn’t get answers from a corpse. “Which is what?”

“Lan Qiren has been sending his staff after the same briefs for which Lan Zhan has put himself forward.”

Okay, that didn’t sound so bad? That was how this industry worked? Perfumers submitted for consideration and earned contracts and blah blah blah a lot of details Wei Ying didn’t care about. “He’s been… sending them?”

“The fewer chances Lan Zhan gets to shore himself up on his own, the greater the chance of him returning to Cloud Recesses, no?”

Oh. Oh. That was… underhanded. “Do you have proof?”

Nie Huaisang shrugged. “Who deals in proof these days, Wei Ying? The point is Cloud Recesses has been expending a good deal more effort over the last few months taking projects they never would have even bothered with before. It’s been a few months since Lan Zhan screwed himself with YZY. What does that tell you?”

Nothing, really. Except that Lan Zhan was again not getting a fair shake. Whether his uncle was deliberately responsible or not was immaterial. That anger that Wei Ying lied about pulled itself up from the depths of his soul. Breaking an agreement like this shouldn’t have resulted in this. Asking Wei Ying for help had to be the last thing in the world he wanted and it was only because he wanted to go his own way that it was happening at all. Wei Ying knew, with proof or without, that this wasn’t punishment for Lan Zhan’s handling of that meeting with Yu Ziyuan. This was punishment for something much older. “It tells me that I gotta go.”

He had to see Lan Zhan right now and tell him. Or—or force him to let Wei Ying help more. Surely there was something he could do, a string he could pull until Lan Zhan was back on solid ground with Gentian House. He’d make Lan Zhan see reason. His work was too beautiful to get caught under the heel of his uncle’s demands this way.

“What about—” Nie Huaisang called after him.

“Doesn’t matter!” Wei Ying threw a wave over his shoulder. “No time!”

His phone beeped anyway. Wei Ying paid it no mind.

Lan Zhan’s complex was beautiful and gated and halfway across town and none of that mattered as Wei Ying’s fingers lingered over the keypad. They wanted desperately to test Wei Ying’s knowledge, muscle memory returning to him immediately as he stood there. What would he do if the entry key was the same? If Lan Zhan never changed it?

What if he didn’t live here any longer?

No, he couldn’t risk using it. Both possibilities were too much for his heart.

He was shameless, but apparently even he drew the line somewhere, and instead mashed his thumb on the intercom button before typing in Lan Zhan’s apartment number.

A pause and then Lan Zhan’s beautiful, serene voice. At least he was pretty sure. The crackle over the intercom left just enough doubt to give this whole interlude a bit of flavor. “Who is it?”

“Wei Ying!”

His heart pounded hard in his chest as he waited for an answer one way or the other. Either Lan Zhan would say yes or no. And if he said no—

The gate clicked, opening slightly, a silent invitation; he supposed it was possible that there was a very fine coincidence at play and someone was about to be very embarrassed—Wei Ying, obviously—when the true occupant thought they were getting a meal delivery or something and instead wound up with a disaster, but it was a chance he had to take now.

Striding up the path to the lobby and then to the elevator bank required every ounce of bravery he carried now that his indignation had settled into a simmering sense of injustice and unfairness.

Tipping his head back to stare at the ceiling of the elevator, he couldn’t help but laugh. It looked exactly the same as the last happy time he’d been here. It should have been odd, right, to feel like he’d never left? The almost bleach-like lemon tang of the detergent used to disinfect the elevator car, so sparkling clean that it was almost painful, felt a little bit like a welcome home after a long time spent away.

Lan Zhan would probably know the name of the scent and could tell him exactly who and how it was used in perfumes.

He’d explained once how the scent of clean was concocted in a laboratory and now everyone started associating it with good hygiene. Wei Ying wasn’t going to get nostalgic over Lan Zhan nerding out over the history of scented detergents. He absolutely wasn’t going to do that, but then the elevator was spitting him out on Lan Zhan’s floor and all he could do was choke on that nostalgia as he approached.

This wasn’t going to go wrong. This was going to be fine. He was going to—

Bang, bang, bang.

Knock loudly on the door apparently. He flinched backward when he realized and then started up again when Lan Zhan didn’t answer. “Lan Zhan! Lan Zhan, I—”

And then the door was opening and it was Lan Zhan there, dressed down in a soft, pale cardigan that was a little worn and stretched around the hems, like Lan Zhan spent too much time pushing the sleeves up his forearms, and it looked cozy—Wei Ying was pretty sure he’d stolen that cardigan a time or two—Lan Zhan looked so cozy, dressed in lightweight pajama bottoms and—

“Lan Zhan!”

“Wei Ying?” But though Lan Zhan looked confused, a little rumpled around the edges, the space under his eyes bruised and worn, he stepped back and gestured Wei Ying inside. “What’s wrong?”

“I think your uncle is an asshole,” Wei Ying replied, vehement to cover his own embarrassment at having probably woken Lan Zhan up. This could have waited, he was sure.

Wait. He checked his phone. It was only five in the afternoon now. “You were sleeping?” Already?

Lan Zhan looked away. “It wasn’t my intention.”

“You let me up? Why didn’t you just tell me to fuck off?”

“Why would I do that?”

There was no good answer for that which didn’t involve invoking the fact that Lan Zhan had, in fact, done exactly that once—in a manner of speaking.

“So you’ve mentioned,” Lan Zhan said, covering his mouth with his elbow as he yawned. “I’m also aware.”

“And now I’m the asshole.” Stepping out of his shoes, he lined them up nicely on the little stand by Lan Zhan’s door and then nearly slipped on the hardwood in just his socks. “Storming over here to tell you something you already knew.”

A smile twitched at the corner of Lan Zhan’s mouth. “I don’t mind hearing it again,” he said, mild, so mild, always mild with Wei Ying when so many others were not. “Would you like tea?”

And that only made him feel even more ridiculous. Lan Zhan really was the kindest. “Don’t go out of your way. I just—”

Lan Zhan headed toward his kitchen and Wei Ying, as had always been his habit when he was here with Lan Zhan, trailed after him. He took in as much of his surroundings as he could, tried to note what things might have been different and which might have been the same. He didn’t notice that anything was immediately different, like it was stuck in a time capsule.

The scent of sandalwood incense lingered the way it used to, his secret favorite scent, like even when Lan Zhan was home, he couldn’t stay away from the defining passion of his life. As Lan Zhan prepared tea—jasmine, he’d admitted once, because he preferred the scent of it to other teas rather than the flavor—Wei Ying watched him, comforted that nothing about him had changed, not really in all these years.

He also feared this lack of change, because if he was the same, then nothing else could change either.

“Lan Zhan, this… thing with your uncle,” he said, leaning against the counter as near to Lan Zhan as he could reasonably get, “how bad is it really?”

Lan Zhan’s actions remained fluid as he removed the canister of tea leaves from his cupboard, followed by the teapot. “What did you hear?” he asked, calm, with a note of tension beneath it.

“Nie Huaisang told me he’s sniping contracts in order to get you back.” Even saying it again made Wei Ying’s blood boil. “Don’t, uh—ah, hell. Nie Huaisang’s gonna know I ratted him out to you.”

“He’s… possibly not wrong. My uncle would prefer to have me back in the fold. I don’t think he would do this to specifically spite me in this way, but, if it is deliberate, I’m not sure he’s thinking of it in these terms,” Lan Zhan said. “He does want what he thinks is best for me.”

“But—”

With a sigh, Lan Zhan snapped closed the canister, having measured out the leaves he wanted with quick, efficient motions. “It was not easy,” he said, “when I made the decision to strike out on my own. My uncle was gracious to not punish me more severely. He could have cut me off entirely then or he could have used his influence to ensure I never stood a chance. He did not. And still I… I do resent that he can do this to me.”

Wei Ying’s heart clenched hard at Lan Zhan’s admission. He’d never, ever been one to complain or air his grievances in any respect. That Lan Zhan said this much… it told Wei Ying far more than any other information might have.

In the past, it would have been easy for him to comfort Lan Zhan in the way he would have preferred. He could have wrapped his arms around Lan Zhan, held him from behind, pressed kisses between his shoulder blades and up the back of his neck until Lan Zhan’s worries melted away. In this present time, he could do none of those things. Still, he would comfort Lan Zhan as best he knew how given the stricter parameters. He could be here for Lan Zhan and only Lan Zhan with no concern about the rest of his family or Cloud Recesses. His hand still managed to misbehave and found itself pressing lightly against the inside of Lan Zhan’s wrist when Lan Zhan moved to turn the kettle on. “Do you want to talk about it?”

Lan Zhan shook his head, finished making the tea, gently freeing his arm. It didn’t even come across like he wanted to be free of Wei Ying’s touch, though it was entirely likely that he did. “There isn’t much to say. I embarrassed my family when I decided to step outside of Cloud Recesses. There was a time when they were questioned because of it. Was there something wrong behind the scenes, they were asked. It even affected the value of ou—their shares for a short time.”

“Lan Zhan…”

Lan Zhan’s eyes found Wei Ying’s; they were clear and without regret. “It was for the best. I wanted to do things that Cloud Recesses could not have fathomed and they… my uncle wished to present a unified, peaceful front to the world. His beliefs about perfumes are different than my own and neither of us will back down. Within a few weeks, everyone got bored of the scandal and everything went back to normal. I could still prove myself a good protégé even if I was no longer affiliated directly with the company. I think that was why he let me go. I didn’t take any missteps.” Lan Zhan handed one of the cups to Wei Ying. “At least until now. I suppose there are some things I cannot do to keep from tarnishing the rest of my family.”

Oh, Lan Zhan.

“You have a right to work with whomever you want to work with. Sometimes these things end… roughly. I can’t tell you how many times I—”

“Wei Ying, there’s no excuse for the lack of professionalism I showed,” he replied. “I should have handled it differently.”

Wei Ying’s heart couldn’t help but clamor at the unfairness of it, that Lan Zhan should feel this weight alone. And he couldn’t even feel guilty because it brought Lan Zhan back into his life. Even a short time with Lan Zhan was a treasure. “Hindsight is a bitch,” he agreed, “but you’re allowed to make mistakes. They shouldn’t cost you this much.” Of course Lan Zhan would never agree, but Wei Ying was of the opinion that Lan Qiren was much too strict with Lan Zhan. “I know you, Lan Zhan. I’m sure you tried your best to make it better with your family. It’s not right that you’re just being left to handle this all on your own. Every company in the entire world has to face a moment of controversy like this and, to be honest, yours isn’t even that bad. They’re your family.”

He tried to imagine, were their situations reversed, his mother doing something like that to him. It was impossible to fathom. Even when Wei Ying was at his worst, she was always there for him, always tried to guide him true and helped him be better when he didn’t meet those standards. She didn’t just dump him in the street to fend entirely for himself.

Not that Lan Zhan was abandoned on the street or anything, but trying to start his own company without the assistance of his family, who could at the very least not remove support or sabotage him, felt vindictive.

“I don’t want to be a source of controversy at all,” Lan Zhan replied, quiet, between sips of tea. It was only at this moment that Wei Ying realized how close they were and that they were still just standing in the middle of Lan Zhan’s kitchen. “I just want to…”

“What is it you want, Lan Zhan?” Wei Ying asked, heart in his throat, voice hushed.

Lan Zhan seemed to think about it for a moment, features conflicted, before he said, “I just want to be proud of my work. I haven’t always been. I wish I could…”

But whatever he wished, Wei Ying didn’t think he was going to hear about it tonight. He could tell when Lan Zhan had reached the end of his ability to speak, needing time again to find more words. He’d already told Wei Ying so much; Wei Ying couldn’t ask him to keep opening himself up.

“It’s okay, Lan Zhan,” he said, patting Lan Zhan’s shoulder. “I understand. I’m here to help you in whatever way I can, okay?”

“Why?” He sounded so sad and lost for a moment that the only thing Wei Ying wanted to do was gather him in his arms again.

“Lan Zhan, why wouldn’t I? You’re my…” Friends didn’t seem right. Exes didn’t seem right either. They were both true. “We are something to one another and that something will always be important to me. You would help me if you could. I know that much.”

“Wei Ying, I don’t know that I can accept that.”

Lan Zhan was intent on being stubborn with him tonight, Wei Ying supposed. Guiding him toward the couch, he pushed him down and sat down next to him and leaned in close, his hand braced tightly on Lan Zhan’s knee. There wasn’t a hint of salaciousness in it, though Wei Ying was aware that the possibility existed that, should he shift his hand just a little bit, it could be. This wasn’t about that though. “Tough, Lan Zhan, because unless you tell me to go away, I won’t do it.”

“Wei Ying…”

“Seriously. I think this is shit. I’d think this is shit even if I didn’t know you. I can help you. I want to help you. I will keep wanting to help you. What I’m doing with you is—it feels nice to me. Nicer than the gigs I always do for companies who’d replace me the minute I’m no longer valuable to them. Lan Zhan, I think what you’re doing is great.”

He leaned back, one leg hiked up onto the couch with him. Pushing much further would do little good. Patience might get him his way here.

Pulling at a stray thread in his jeans, he fussed with it until it frayed. He was, maybe, bullying Lan Zhan a little bit, but he had to break through his resistance somehow. There was a time when he would have wanted Lan Zhan to feel guilty about what happened to them, but that time was long, long past. Now he just wanted to take from Lan Zhan what little he could get away with, especially when Lan Zhan had always been so independent and didn’t want to burden anyone. “You’ll have to tell me again if you want me to go.”

“I should tell you that,” he admitted, fingers pinching at his nose before he scrubbed his palm over his eyes.

No, you should let me help, he thought, continuing to fuss with the thread until it finally split fully in two. Then, unsure what to do with it, he rolled the pieces into a ball and shoved them into his pocket. “Will you?”

“It’s selfish,” he insisted, “but no.”

Wei Ying released an audible breath, unintended, as he slumped into the couch.

“Not if you’ll answer me truthfully.”

This time, the audible breath was purposeful, a gust of annoyance meant to be heard. “How have I been untruthful?”

“You haven’t yet.”

“But?”

“But I don’t understand why you want to help me.”

Groaning, Wei Ying scrubbed at his lower lip and glared at Lan Zhan. He didn’t have the patience to drag this out. If Lan Zhan was going to keep letting this get under his skin, a bit of gritty sand irritating the space between his teeth, then at some point, he probably would finally tell Wei Ying to fuck off. “I’ll be honest if you’ll be honest and ask the question you’re really wanting to ask me.”

Out of the corner of his eye, Lan Zhan’s jaw clenched. His hands, too, curled into fists on his knees. For a short time, Wei Ying wasn’t sure he’d be able to say it, like he’d suggested earlier. That was ultimately okay, though. Wei Ying was a coward, too.

“Why would you want to help after what I did?” Lan Zhan finally said, words spoken in a rush, the quickest Wei Ying had ever heard him speak.

“Because,” he replied, knowing it wasn’t the full truth, but the biggest part of it that mattered, “you’ll always be important to me, no matter what else has happened or might happen.”

His mom would be proud of him, he thinks, for admitting as much. She’d always encouraged the best in him, even when he was sometimes too fearful for his own good. She taught him to be bold. He could not be as bold as he wished, but he could do this. “Believe me when I say it’s in the past, Lan Zhan, because it is. You were kind about it. What more could a person ask for from a breakup?”

Lan Zhan’s eyebrows furrowed slightly, giving his face a soft, scowling quality.

When Wei Ying huffed this time, it was in reluctant amusement. They made quite a pair, he and Lan Zhan did. If only his mother was here. She’d be able to talk sense into them both. But he supposed they were stumbling through this okay on their own. They were friendly at least. Nobody was crying. It was a net win. “Will you at least trust me when I say I want to be here?”

Lan Zhan searched his face and apparently found what he was looking for because he nodded.

Wei Ying brushed his hands down his jeans and smiled. “And it’s really not going to be weird to make a perfume for me?”

“No.”

“Okay, okay. So we’re good?”

“We… are.”

They sat in silence for a few minutes longer before Wei Ying couldn’t help himself and bounced slightly, brushing dangerously close to Lan Zhan’s thigh. “You probably want to go back to bed. I… kind of invaded your space. Sorry.”

“I don’t mind.”

“Lan Zhan, you’re too good,” Wei Ying said, not bothering to move. Lan Zhan did say he didn’t mind and Wei Ying wasn’t quite ready to go just yet, not after they’d cleared at least a little bit of the air. “You should kick me out.”

“I don’t want to.”

“Then… perhaps another cup of tea before I head out for the night?” Someone here had to be reasonable if Lan Zhan wasn’t going to be. If he didn’t force himself to have some sort of a boundary, he feared what he might wind up feeling.

Lan Zhan looked at him again. “That is acceptable to me.”

One cup of tea turned into two turned into a whole pot of tea while they talked. They talked until Lan Zhan’s head was full of Wei Ying’s thoughts, his life, even just the sound of his voice once it hit the late hours of the night, well past his usual bedtime. Punch-drunk and content, he noticed Wei Ying had quieted, becoming one with the back of the couch, eyes closed, face gently turned toward him.

“Wei Ying,” he said, hushed. The couch wouldn’t be very comfortable. He ought to take the bed. If only he’d wake up.

He did not.

Lan Zhan retrieved a spare blanket from his bedroom and covered Wei Ying with it, tucked a pillow beneath his neck. His palm lingered, cupped beneath Wei Ying’s head as he considered what to do, whether he should lower Wei Ying so he could stretch out. Half hunched over him, he stilled, listened to Wei Ying’s even breathing. Just in case, he tried again. “Wei Ying?”

Wei Ying only turned his head, forcing Lan Zhan’s hand to cup his cheek. “Hngh. G’way. Sleep.”

Frozen, Lan Zhan could do nothing for a moment and then he huffed, half-amused, half-horrified by his own behavior. This was a bit much even for him; Wei Ying could survive on a couch for one night.

He lingered anyway. Every moment that passed brought him that much closer to the end of this lucky, undeserved partnership, this time with Wei Ying. That made this time precious. He regretted so many things and none right now so bitterly as the knowledge that this would be taken from him soon.

The bathroom door creaked open, pulling Lan Zhan awake from a drifting, dragging sleep, the sort that left him feeling groggier and more exhausted than if he hadn’t slept at all. It shouldn’t have done that, the door, because there was nobody else in his—

“Shit!” Wei Ying. Whispering loudly enough to wake the dead. “Shit, shit, shit. Lan Zhan, why didn’t you wake me up?”

That was a good question that wasn’t, apparently, directed at Lan Zhan, because when he stumbled upright and pulled his bedroom door fully open, Wei Ying jumped. The bathroom door was also open and Wei Ying was down to his boxers. Water dripped down his face, wet the baby-fine strands of hair around his temple. “You’re here?!”

“What time is it?”

“Eight! Eight and we didn’t even drink, what the fuck kind of old people are we? I have a meeting…” He hummed, impatient. “Fuck, I don’t have time to go back to my apartment. I thought you left already?”

“No, I—I overslept.” Strange how that happened. His alarm was usually set already. Maybe he’d turned it off. “What about Wen Ning?”

“No time! I’ll have to call a Didi and—” He grimaced. “—I guess my clothes from yesterday are okay.”

“You can borrow some of mine,” Lan Zhan answered. Later, he might blame it on his still sleep-addled state. He definitely, right at this moment, blamed it on the fact that Wei Ying was shirtless.

“Uh.”

If he looked away, maybe he wouldn’t be quite so awkward. Turning his head, he added, “It’s no trouble,” before Wei Ying could argue further. “I’m sure I have something that would suit.”

“If… if you’re sure?”

“I can give you a ride, too, if that’ll help?” So much for not being awkward. And also being wrong. He really didn’t have time. He needed to have been at Gentian House an hour ago at the latest. He couldn’t bring himself to care about that though.

“No, no. God, no. It’s too far out of your way. If you’re even—I would appreciate it if I could borrow something though. I promise I’ll take care of it.”

“Mn. Anything you like.”

Wei Ying edged past him into the bedroom and stepped carefully over to the small closet where he kept his things. “You’re sure? You don’t have, like, a favorite shirt or anything?”

“No,” Lan Zhan said. There wasn’t a single thing in that closet he wouldn’t happily give to Wei Ying. He left Wei Ying to search for something and took over in the bathroom, wiping up droplets of water and considering whether it would be too weird to offer his face wash to Wei Ying.

It was going fine until Wei Ying made a loud, inquisitive sound and then, “Lan Zhan?”

Lan Zhan returned to find Wei Ying clutching an old t-shirt. An unusual, popping shade of blue—not bright, but more saturated than Lan Zhan’s preferred palette these days, though it would have matched his wardrobe well if he’d allowed himself to wear t-shirts when he was younger—it drew the eye. He hadn’t worn it in years, preferred to forget that he had it at all because it wasn’t like he could wear it at Gentian House anyway and there were too many memories associated with it now to wear it around the house.

A cutesy drawing of a rabbit decorated the front. He used to wear it to Cloud Recesses on the weekends when he worked in the labs and always thought of Wei Ying when he did. Those hours spent doing busy work always passed a little easier on the days he wore it. Though the thought was a sentimental one and one he kept locked away, he cherished the memory all the same.

“Yes?” He couldn’t deny what this was and would accept any conclusion Wei Ying drew from it if and when he saw fit to keep from standing there, still, hands clenched in the soft, fading fabric.

“Can I—could I wear this?”

Maybe Wei Ying needed a little comfort today, too. The fact that he might draw it from this article of clothing was neither here nor there. Regardless of its provenance, it was the most comfortable thing in his wardrobe and probably best fit Wei Ying’s tastes. “Of course.”

Beaming, Wei Ying held it even more closely to his chest and turned away again, dragging out the one decent pair of joggers he’d ever found. “I’m gonna steal these cool-ass pants of yours, too, okay?”

“That’s fine. Go ahead and finish up with the bathroom first if you’d like. You’re welcome to anything you find.”

He was efficient, almost too efficient because Lan Zhan wasn’t even done making breakfast when he came back out, all fresh-scrubbed skin and wafting sandalwood, and Lan Zhan wasn’t prepared for any of it.

In Lan Zhan’s clothing, he looked somehow softer and sharper all at once. He’d thrown his hair into a damp, messy bun and carried his own stuff in his arms. He looked very young and, for a single moment as he stared at Lan Zhan, very lost.

“I’ll get a bag for you,” he offered, rasping against the dryness in his throat. And then he nearly fumbled the electric kettle as he turned too quickly in the opposite direction and caught it with his elbow, intending to give him one of the fabric bags he uses for groceries.

“That’s—” Huffing, he smiled, taking the bag graciously when Lan Zhan brought it over. “Okay, Lan Zhan, you win.”

Before Lan Zhan could ask him to stay for breakfast or offer tea, his phone beeped. “Gotta go, ride’s here. Thanks for—thank you! I’ll come by Gentian House later to return your things. Promise!” And then he was darting out the door before Lan Zhan could say anything else at all or ask him what the meeting was about.

Wei Ying made good on that promise a little after two, a whirlwind that Lan Zhan could hear all the way from the back, his good afternoon to Luo Qingyang both exuberant and pleasant. Lan Zhan didn’t like admitting to such things, but his heart threatened to pound its way out of his chest even just hearing Wei Ying’s voice, knowing he’d—

Wei Ying poked his head into Lan Zhan’s office, hanging off the doorframe like it was his natural habitat. “Lan Zhan!”

He was, Lan Zhan wasn’t disappointed to note, wearing his own clothes and slung over his arm was the bag from earlier. When he came inside and handed it over, Lan Zhan noticed his shirt and pants were perfectly folded and tucked into plastic from a dry cleaners. “You didn’t have to go through this much trouble.”

“Pfft, Lan Zhan, please.” He took the seat across from Lan Zhan’s desk and swung his leg over the arm of it. “It was the very least I could do.”

There was no way to explain that he’d regret not getting to—maybe not right away—wash them for himself. Now they just smelled like the dry cleaners. Nothing terribly interesting about that.

“How did the meeting go?”

“Oh, you know.” Wei Ying’s hand curved through the air, a bit like a conductor might do before his orchestra. “Got my flights and itineraries handled. Milan, London, Paris. Back to back to back. And then a bunch of editorials. Woohoo.”

“That sounds—”

“Exciting? Exhausting? Annoying? Unnecessary? Take your pick.”

“It does sound exhausting,” Lan Zhan admitted, but he longed, too, for that freedom to travel. He considered telling Wei Ying about his time spent in Grasse, how it still sat in a locked box within his chest. “Are you looking forward to it?”

“Not really. I mean… it’s all fine, right? Get yelled at a lot, get touched and prodded and pushed into clothing that doesn’t fit quite right, almost lose your eye getting make-up done. It’s okay though.” His fingers tapped, staccato light, against his hiked-up knee. “It’s fine.”

It didn’t sound like it and Lan Zhan was about to say something except—

“Actually,” Wei Ying said first, “It sucks. I haven’t had to be away this long in years. At least A-Yuan’s not a kid anymore, but, like. It sucks. A lot. I didn’t think it would bother me that much if I’m being quite honest.” His gaze lifts from the floor, hones in on Lan Zhan’s face. His eyes, always expressive, conveyed a deep regret. The skin around them, bruised, only exacerbated the visual. “I didn’t think I’d be getting to see you when I signed all these contracts either.” He laughed, bitter. “That certainly takes the gleam off of those travel plans. Is this what getting old is like? Just wanting to stay home with the family?”

“I don’t know.” Lan Zhan has never felt any such thing in his life. The older he got, the more trapped he felt. He was not Wei Ying’s family anyway.

“Ah, Lan Zhan, do you have a touch of wanderlust in your heart?”

Lan Zhan swallowed around the sudden tightness in his throat. It would be so easy to explain. “Perhaps.”

If Wei Ying pushed just a little bit more…

But no, his expression went a little soft as he tilted his head. That was all. “Maybe once this has settled down, you’ll get your chance. There’s no possible way you won’t bring Gentian House around.” He clapped his hands on his thighs. “Anyway, we’ve listened to me whine long enough. Don’t we have better things to do than that? How does one make a perfume after all?”

There were a lot of things that needed to be done. Lan Zhan could rattle them off with his eyes closed.

“If there’s not a specific brief, I’ll write out a description of what I’m hoping to capture.” Sometimes, those even became the copy that was included in the packaging if he felt the writing was beautiful enough.

“Is that what you were working on?”

Lan Zhan nodded.

“And what do you hope to capture today?” Wei Ying still looked so gentle, warm and inviting. Too bad his question struck at something in him that he couldn’t acknowledge.

Swallowing around the lump in his throat—would it ever go away?—Lan Zhan picked up a sheet of paper he’d scribbled out some questions on. He’d intended to answer them for himself, but getting Wei Ying’s thoughts would be even better. “Some answers,” he said finally. “Questions so I can brainstorm.”

Wei Ying winked. “I’m an open book, Lan Zhan! Ask away.”

Staring down at the paper and reading them, he felt a little sick. They seemed so asinine. They were, he knew, designed to be so. This wasn’t a deep, penetrating psychological profile he was trying to gather, just trying to make interesting connections to guide his own thoughts. Staging the questions for Wei Ying made them into something else entirely. He knew a lot of the answers already, knew that Wei Ying liked autumn and black sesame ice cream and sitting at the beach until he was sun-warmed all over even though he whined about having to apply sunscreen so often and wished he could let himself burn just once for the sheer novelty of it; he’d cry pathetically and entirely on purpose until Lan Zhan applied afterburn gel just in case, an excuse they both enjoyed.

At least, he thought he knew. It was entirely possible these things had changed over the years. Maybe trips to the beach were no longer worth it or he’d outgrown his desire to go. Perhaps black sesame bored him and his new favorite ice cream was flavored with black pepper. What if he’d learned to love spring instead?

That wasn’t a bad thing. Wei Ying growing up and moving on wasn’t a bad thing either. It was just—he hadn’t expected quite how much it might affect him to confront it now when he’d only thought to expect Wei Ying bringing his clothes back.

“You gonna lay ’em on me, Lan Zhan?”

Lan Zhan dragged in a deep breath. There was no point delaying further. “Mn.”

As he worked methodically down the list, he found that some things were still as he expected—more than he might have guessed to be honest—and a few were pleasant surprises, like how Wei Ying now said that he liked rabbits and preferred dizi music to anything else and wished he could settle down in the countryside somewhere one day.

In all honesty, these were such puffy, nonsense questions that Lan Zhan shouldn’t have been remotely affected by them either, but as he turned over the answers in his mind, looking at this composite of Wei Ying’s life, the life he shared with others, the little peeks behind the curtain, the catalog of gestures and expressions that Lan Zhan noted and tried not to read into, he realized… he was affected. Deeply.

He wanted to know these things.

He wanted to know everything.

“So is that it?” He moved as though he intended to stand, both hands on the armrests as he levered himself up.

“There are a few details I wouldn’t mind clarifying,” Lan Zhan said, “if you’d like to stay.” It wasn’t quite the flimsiest excuse Lan Zhan could have come up with, but it was very nearly that. “You’d be welcome to stay anyway.” Then he thought that perhaps that was a little entitled. “You don’t have to if you’d rather go, of course.”

“Of course not.” Wei Ying didn’t seem to notice Lan Zhan’s smile as he pushed himself up and began wandering around Lan Zhan’s office, touching everything in a way that Lan Zhan wished was proprietary, but knew couldn’t possibly be in the least bit possessive. He was humming and he was lovely and Lan Zhan wanted so much.

He just… wanted. Didn’t know how to do or be anything else but this desirous thing.

“Are you sure I’m not bothering you, Lan Zhan?” Wei Ying asked, stopping his progress throughout the room. “You aren’t just being kind?”

Lan Zhan cleared his throat. “No,” he said, voice rough even after he cleared it a second time. “I’m not kind. I do want you here.”

“You are kind.”

Lan Zhan shook his head. There were so many things he would have done differently if he was a kind person. All he could do was try to make up for it now in whatever way Wei Ying might want from him even if it couldn’t be more than these scant moments.

“And you’re not a bother,” Lan Zhan insisted. Though he couldn’t meet Wei Ying’s eyes, he forced himself to add, “You never were.” He was sorry if he’d ever made Wei Ying feel that way. He’d given his thanks; he needed to share his apologies, too, his regrets. “I’m sorry, Wei Ying.”

There was a sparkling glint in Wei Ying’s eye that was quickly blinked away. If Lan Zhan wasn’t looking, he might not have seen it at all, especially not through the blinding grin. “That’s okay, Lan Zhan. It’s just fine. You don’t have to apologize.”

But he did. Then, and now. And he would keep doing so until he was satisfied that Wei Ying knew how much he wished things could be different.

Was it enough?

He didn’t know, but it was the only thing he could think to do.

Then

If Wei Ying had thought asking a boy out would go as well as all this, he might have done it sooner. Because spending time with Lan Zhan was amazing! The best! Lan Zhan was interesting in a way that most people weren’t and the most intriguing pieces of him were unearthed only with diligence and hard work. It took most of dinner to get Lan Zhan to open up to any real degree, but by then, Wei Ying was determined. Lan Zhan was too beautiful and polite not to want to get to know, cool and distant in a way that felt challenging in a good way. He made Wei Ying want to be on his best behavior and on his worst all at the same time.

And if he wasn’t mistaken… well, Wei Ying didn’t often feel any particularly physical urges toward other people, not beyond the sheer joy of sharing a flirtation, but Lan Zhan challenged that, too. He was gorgeous inside and out and as the afternoon had worn into evening, still bright with the summer sunshine, as Wei Ying grew bolder in his flirtations and bolder still in the way he reached out and touched Lan Zhan, Wei Ying realized he wanted more from Lan Zhan.

More than this one date, more than dinner, more.

Everything.

He did not, however, know how to say it. He didn’t even really know what it meant to want everything from and with another person. All he knew with a certainty was his heart thrilled whenever their hands accidentally brushed as they walked down the street and he was pleased when, not ready to let go, Wei Ying suggested they order boba and walk along the river alongside other couples who were busy strolling with one another in the orange-pink light of sunset. He was ecstatic when Lan Zhan merely smiled when Wei Ying ordered his full sugar with extra popping pearls and Wei Ying was charmed in turn when Lan Zhan merely chose unsweetened iced green tea, so deceptively simple, but so true to who Lan Zhan was, unpretentious and honest.

They didn’t talk much as they walked. Wei Ying’s awareness was too fully on Lan Zhan’s body in proximity to his own for him to speak with any degree of satisfaction that he wouldn’t blow it.

Well, to a given extent anyway. He would ever be himself and his mother’s son. There was always something to talk about. And his nerves would only hold him back so much.

Like an arcade. With a claw machine. “Hey, Lan Zhan! Let me win something for you!”

Before Lan Zhan could complain, Wei Ying jogged across the pathway toward the arcade set between a dumpling shop and a convenience store, dragging Lan Zhan by the wrist all the way. “Ugh, it’s just t-shirts. Not even a cute little stuffed animal.” Still, he had to get something for Lan Zhan. Might as well be this. Banded and rolled up fabric stood in a layer of colorful pebbles. Wei Ying couldn’t even see what sort of ridiculous design would be emblazoned across the front. “Do you even wear t-shirts?”

There was a moment of hesitation before Lan Zhan said, “Yes.”

What a liar. Wei Ying was definitely going to win him a shirt just to make him eat his words. “Now I definitely have to win one for you! Which one? Purple? Green? You look like you’d wear green. Pink?”

“Blue.”

Wei Ying grinned. “Blue, it is!”

Normally, he wasn’t very lucky, but this time, he didn’t do too badly. It only took him, you know, maybe ten tries and twenty yuan? Not too bad. Not too bad at all. This was Wei Ying’s way of proving he could provide for Lan Zhan. He could be such a good husband if Lan Zhan gave him a chance. “Ha.” Bowing theatrically, he held out the soft, t-shirt-y cylinder. “For you.”

“Thank you,” Lan Zhan replied, giving the gift its sober due as he hefted it in his palm. He scanned the room, pushing onto his toes to get a better view. “I’ll be right back.”

And then he was slipping between other hopeful arcade game winners.

When he returned, he was wearing the t-shirt and it fit so nicely across his chest that Wei Ying nearly tripped over his tongue when he opened his mouth to talk. A big, fluffy bunny was plastered across his sternum. It was cute. Lan Zhan was so cute.

“Lan Zhan, how do you look so good all the time? Some of us are going to perish under the pressure.”

Lan Zhan glanced down at himself and shrugged. “I didn’t do anything special.”

That felt like a bit of a lie, but Wei Ying didn’t counter it with the real truth: he didn’t have to do anything special. Wei Ying was already entirely smitten. Lan Zhan could have shown up wearing a scowl and a burlap sack and Wei Ying would be lost.

“Lan Zhan,” he said, pulling Lan Zhan back out onto the sidewalk and then back along their original path. He strode ahead a few steps and turned around in front of Lan Zhan, walking backwards so Lan Zhan wouldn’t have to stop walking. “Lan Zhan, I like you so much. You’re probably the coolest person I’ve ever met.” It was Wei Ying who was uncool and shouldn’t have been spilling these feelings already when they barely knew one another, but Wei Ying was certain of them, so what was the point in waiting? That was what his mom would’ve said anyway. If Lan Zhan never wanted to see him again, it was better to know now anyway. “And I’m grateful for that.”

Though Lan Zhan could have continued walking, he stopped, a frown forming on his mouth. “Wei Ying?”

Realizing he should probably step out of the way of other pedestrians, Wei Ying moved toward the side of the path near the railing that overlooked the water.

It was easy to get lost in the endless sparkle of the sunlight as it played across the water, focus on that while he gathered up his thoughts to try again. It felt important to him that Lan Zhan know. “Lan Zhan—”

“I like you, too,” Lan Zhan said in a rush, coming up beside Wei Ying, wrapping his hands tight around the rails, twisting them back and forth as he leaned against it “I didn’t think I would. I don’t like anyone. But… I like you.”

Wei Ying breathed out, couldn’t stop the smile that spread across his mouth, so wide it made his cheeks ache. Stepping a little closer, he bumped their shoulders together. It wasn’t intentional, but as he wrapped his own hands around the railings, their pinkies brushed and Wei Ying was maybe willing to admit that his feelings went a little bit further than like when his heart rate spiked from such innocent, brief contact.

And then Lan Zhan lifted his hand and covered Wei Ying’s. His palm was cool against the back of Wei Ying’s for a short time, cool from the railing, before it warmed. “Is this okay?” he asked, staring out at the water instead of looking at Wei Ying. If the way Wei Ying’s stomach twisted up was any indication, it was more than okay. His blood thrummed through his body, clamoring for more.

“It’s okay,” Wei Ying agreed. He would stay here forever if he needed to, just for this. It was so perfectly lovely. “Lan Zhan, it’s great. You’re great.”

Though Lan Zhan wasn’t watching him, he was definitely watching Lan Zhan and saw the way he ducked his head and swallowed, eyes closing briefly.

He’d never been around anyone who was so sweet in such a low-key way. It made Wei Ying want all sorts of things from him and made him in turn want to give all sorts of things back. Everything in him clamored for everything inside of Lan Zhan and, strange as it seemed, he felt like it might be the same for Lan Zhan, too.

“Lan Zhan, can we…?” And then he was being tugged into an embrace, Lan Zhan bringing their joined hands up to press against Wei Ying’s cheek. He was kissing Wei Ying before Wei Ying even knew he wanted it and then all he wanted was more as Lan Zhan pressed him into the railing. It dug into his back, painful, but that only sweetened it.

When they parted, breathless, Wei Ying nuzzled at Lan Zhan’s throat, slid his leg between Lan Zhan’s, felt Lan Zhan’s interest against his thigh. “Can we…?” he asked again. He wasn’t even sure what he was asking really, other than that he wanted to be with Lan Zhan.

He expected Lan Zhan to say no, to say it was too fast or that he liked Wei Ying but he didn’t like Wei Ying, something to keep Wei Ying from being able to fully express the depth of his affection in the way he wished to express it, through hands and mouth and maybe more, his touch speaking for him more thoroughly than words ever could.

“My mom’s out of town right now,” Wei Ying said, still panting, turning them until Lan Zhan was backed into the railing instead. “I’ve got our apartment to myself.” Oh, god. He’d invited Lan Zhan back to his apartment! He was never, ever going to be able to look at his mother without blushing again, but he was never going to be this happy again, he was sure, so she’d probably forgive him. “If you want…”

His thoughts scattered as Lan Zhan shifted against him, pulling him closer.

“I want,” Lan Zhan agreed, burying his face in Wei Ying’s hair. “I want you.”

Wei Ying was never more grateful for the fact that his mother had managed to teach him how to be a complete scatterbrain about his life and still manage to make it look like the house wasn’t a complete disaster than right at this moment, because as he let Lan Zhan in, he didn’t have to go through any rather embarrassing excuses when they stepped inside. It wasn’t showroom ready, would never be like one of those minimalist Scandinavian homes, but it was tidy and made it so he could just back Lan Zhan into the door and kiss him on the mouth as he kicked off his shoes and nudged Lan Zhan’s ankles so he’d do the same.

“Slippers, guest slippers,” Wei Ying said in a sing-song as he pulled back, not wanting to. “Over here, ah, Lan Zhan. You’re so—do you want anything first? Tea? Water? A drink?”

Lan Zhan looked back at him, a little wild, and shook his head, foot missing the slipper about three times before he succeeded in hooking his toes inside. “I’m fine. Wei Ying, I—”

Though his clothes were loose-fitting, they hid nothing of Lan Zhan’s current state and Wei Ying wanted inside of them, very nearly yanked the ties on his trousers free to get there. “Bedroom then? Or…?”

Lan Zhan nodded vigorously, which was nice, and left Wei Ying with the impression that this place could’ve been a pigsty and Lan Zhan wouldn’t have noticed. His ears were really pink and his eyes were gleaming and Wei Ying liked him so much. “Come on, Lan Zhan!” he called, dragging him through the house, pointing out the bathroom on the way before pulling him into his room. “This is gonna be so good.”

Of course, Wei Ying’s experience was mostly a few awkward fumbles with friends that didn’t get anywhere before the giggling ruined it, but that hardly mattered! He had a good feeling about this! And he’d read a lot of porn, so it shouldn’t be too difficult to get them off.

If nothing else, he had a lot of experience using his hands. “You’re so hot. How is that possible? What do you like?”

“I don’t—” Lan Zhan’s shoulders slumped. Wei Ying was afraid he’d said something wrong when Lan Zhan admitted, “I don’t know.”

Grinning, Wei Ying took his face between his hands and pressed a kiss to his mouth, so fond. “I don’t either. Let’s figure it out together, huh? Can I…?” He reached for that tie on Lan Zhan’s pants, slipping it lightly between his fingers back and forth, never quite pulling it free though he wanted to. “I’d like to see you.”

Not only did Lan Zhan’s ears glow pink, so did his cheeks now. It was so enchanting that Wei Ying couldn’t stop himself from kissing Lan Zhan again. How could someone as annoying as Wei Ying have gotten so lucky as to snag someone like Lan Zhan? He nodded and that was all Wei Ying needed in order to yank the ties free. The fabric puddled around Lan Zhan’s ankles as he gasped, lower body jerking forward slightly at the exposure. He wore pale, fitted boxers that outlined the most beautiful cock Wei Ying had ever seen. A small stain dampened the fabric, drawing Wei Ying’s eye from the long, elegant line of his thigh muscles.

Neither of them seemed to know what to do from there, Wei Ying’s lack of experience finally catching up to him in a way that made him shy. Laughing lightly, he skimmed his palms down Lan Zhan’s sides, pleased to feel Lan Zhan shiver beneath his touch. “Ah, Lan Zhan, you’re so lovely.”

Lan Zhan coughed lightly, though a tiny smile curled at the corner of his mouth, one that Wei Ying couldn’t help but kiss. He also couldn’t help but bully Lan Zhan toward the bed, thinking maybe that would push things in the direction they were wanting this to go. He was in no rush, wouldn’t have minded if this lasted the entire night and then some, but he worried if he let his fears and nervousness guide him, they’d never get anywhere.

He really wanted to get somewhere, pulling him along by the hips as he backed toward the bed.

“Wei Ying,” Lan Zhan said, grabbing Wei Ying by his belt loops. “What about you?”

“Oh,” he said, looking down at himself. “I guess that’s fair.”

And then he divested himself of his shirt and jeans and pulled Lan Zhan forward, allowing himself to tumble backward onto his bed. He liked the feeling of Lan Zhan’s weight pressing him into it, heavy and comforting, threatening to consume him. Everything was Lan Zhan, scent, taste, touch, everywhere. Lan Zhan’s hands roamed experimentally over his neck and chest, down his arms, fingers tangling with fingers as Lan Zhan followed up with his mouth.

This was good. Not awkward at all. Half-clothed make outs might just shoot up to the top of Wei Ying’s list of cool things to do with Lan Zhan if Lan Zhan kept being this amazing at it. Then he decided to drag his teeth heroically down the column of Wei Ying’s neck and nearly did him in just like that.

“Lan Zhan, fuck, that’s…” He twined his leg around the back of Lan Zhan’s pulling him in closer and ground up against Lan Zhan, causing Lan Zhan to huff, which was somehow even better than the skittering bursts of pleasure that accompanied each rocking motion of Wei Ying’s body against Lan Zhan’s. That needed to happen again immediately and as often as possible. In his heart, he felt as though the only thing that mattered was ensuring Lan Zhan always made these sounds.

Wrapping his arms around Lan Zhan’s neck, he pulled Lan Zhan into another kiss. When he scraped his nails against Lan Zhan’s scalp, he hissed lightly and pulled away, but his gaze darkened, darted wildly from Wei Ying’s eyes to his mouth and then further down before coming back up. Wei Ying did it again, experimental, tugging a little just to test, and was rewarded with a bruising kiss that left Wei Ying’s lips tingling and pulsing.

He chased after Lan Zhan when he pulled away again. How could he not? “Lan Zhan, you’re teasing me.”

“Perhaps,” Lan Zhan agreed. As he shifted, his thigh brushed against Wei Ying, causing him to groan, needy, for more. “Do you not like it?”

“I like it,” Wei Ying said, breathy. Holy shit, this was so much different than he, himself, and his own hand going to town. “I like it so much. Just—”

Wei Ying moaned again when Lan Zhan pressed down against him and nearly lost it entirely when, holding himself up on his elbow, he pressed his thumb against Wei Ying’s mouth, parting his lips, slipping the digit between his teeth before chasing it again with his mouth. His own saliva cooled against his cheek as Lan Zhan swept his hand over his jaw.

It was overwhelming and perhaps it shouldn’t have been. Maybe other people didn’t feel so much over something like this. They weren’t even fully naked yet. But it was—

Wei Ying was—

He felt, somewhere underneath all the surface-level pleasure, as though it would never be as good as this with anyone else, that he’d somehow won the lottery already and nothing else would ever measure. It was an overwrought reaction perhaps, the kind of thing you’d hear in a drama with a too-romantic protagonist, but it was true. It was the truest thing in Wei Ying’s life. He only wanted Lan Zhan in whatever way he could have him for as long as possible. Forever, if he was very lucky. No one could beat Lan Zhan.

Time stretched and contracted as they moved against one another, pushing and pulling one another closer to an orgasm that didn’t truly matter as long as they were together.

They didn’t even touch one another beyond this grinding, the press of fingers into muscles, the brush of palm against skin, reaching for something beyond their need for release.

When he came, it was almost gentle, almost an afterthought; he couldn’t even call it the payoff because everything else was so…

So…

He brushed his hand across his eyes and laughed, shuddering. “Lan Zhan,” he said, because it encompassed everything else he might have wanted to say. And then, aware of the come smearing against his hip and thighs, leaking through the fabric of his and Lan Zhan’s underwear: “We’re a mess.”

He tried to wiggle out from beneath Lan Zhan and only really succeeded in convincing him that they needed to kiss again immediately. Which was absolutely okay with Wei Ying. If Lan Zhan wanted to be sticky, then then could both be sticky. Kissing was a lot more fun anyway.

By the time he regained his senses a second time, he really was convinced they needed to clean up. At least they’d only have to wash their underwear, he supposed.

“Let me get you some pajama pants while I do the wash. Unless…” He bit his lip. Maybe Lan Zhan wouldn’t want to stick around now that they were done. “Do you want to stay?”

Lan Zhan blinked at him and pushed himself to an upright position, wincing slightly. “I do,” he admitted, “but if you want me to go, I will.”

“Lan Zhan! Don’t be absurd. How could I want you to go?”

Lan Zhan’s shoulders raised slightly and that smile from earlier returned, such a delicate little thing to convey so much. If Wei Ying had his way, they’d never be out of one another’s sight, which was ridiculous and would probably sound a little creepy if he said it out loud, but he only meant that he liked Lan Zhan so much. It wouldn’t feel so very bad to have him around all the time.

“I can think of a lot of reasons why you might,” Lan Zhan said, quiet.

“Aiya, do you think I’d just fuck and run? Lan Zhan, I like you and I liked this. You’re amazing and very clearly the best. You are welcome to stay as long as you want, even if that means you’ll eventually run into my mother, who is me except even more shameless and prettier if you can believe it.”

If Lan Zhan’s brightening look was anything to go by, he wasn’t at all opposed to the idea of meeting Wei Ying’s mother or sticking around and that was just about the most incredible thing that could have happened to Wei Ying up until this point in his life. “Nobody could be as pretty as you.”

He’d intended to go get cleaned up and clean Lan Zhan up, but instead…

With that kind of sweet talk to incite him, he couldn’t help tackling Lan Zhan to the bed one more time.

Laundry could wait.

Now

It was easy for Lan Zhan to get used to Wei Ying’s presence around Gentian House and take for granted the way he would swing by at around ten with tea for him and Luo Qingyang. He’d bring snacks, usually whatever was to either Lan Zhan’s or Luo Qingyang’s tastes, never his own, and stay until evening, watching the customers, fiddling with whatever he found in Lan Zhan’s office, asking him about this, that, or the other. He made posts, a lot of posts, taking pictures of the lab and the perfumes and sometimes Lan Zhan, and interacted with his fans over his or Gentian House’s social media accounts, sometimes pointing out the ones which complimented Lan Zhan’s work especially.

“Lan Zhan,” he’d say, “get a load of this,” and then off he’d go, talking about other people talking about Gentian House. These moments always came with bumps in Gentian House’s profile, whether an increase in followers or interested parties messaging him for recommendations. Sometimes it resulted in sales and sometimes it didn’t, but it felt like forward momentum after months of stagnation, stagnation that predated Wei Ying’s arrival and, in truth, existed even before his meeting with Yu Ziyuan.

He… liked it. Liked the disruptions. Liked especially that Wei Ying seemed almost to bloom the longer he spent here, more animated by the day, more like the Wei Ying he’d grown so quickly to love, never learning how to stop in all the time they’d been separated. It had only been a week, maybe that, since Wei Ying started coming here in earnest. It was like after he’d answered all those questions, he felt like he had to find reasons to be here and just chose to do so even though it wasn’t a part of their contract.

Their contract. Their contract was, by all measures, completed by now and Lan Zhan was meant to begin the unphotogenic part of his work: the experimental stage. It didn’t require Wei Ying’s presence, though given what Wei Ying had said about his next jobs…

Well, if Wei Ying wanted to take refuge here while Lan Zhan fussed in the lab or ruminated in his office, a terrible conversational partner the whole while, so be it. It wasn’t like he’d have much more time here anyway. Another week, maybe a little more. Lan Zhan refused to confirm the date.

Anyway Lan Zhan had already slotted this into his life like it had always existed there.

“Lan Zhan.” Wei Ying sat now on the corner of Lan Zhan’s desk, swinging his legs back and forth in the space beneath the brushed metal surface. He was carefully holding onto a frothy cup of boba, the searing neon straw at odds with the delicate purple of the drink itself, while trying to scroll through his phone. He managed. Barely. And then swung his phone around to capture Lan Zhan’s face in the lens. “Can I post a video?”

“Of what?”

“You! And me! Look at how much your fans are clamoring for it.”

He turned his phone to show Lan Zhan. Instead of taking it, Lan Zhan rose and leaned toward him, cupped his hand around Wei Ying’s to steady it. Wei Ying’s fingertips were cold and a little damp, but that was more than okay with Lan Zhan. Presented to him was a long list of comments gently haranguing Wei Ying to show off the handsome gege in some of his pictures.

Lan Zhan’s ears heated. Handsome gege. Ridiculous.

“They want you to say hi,” Wei Ying chirped. “You’re not too shy for that, right?”

Lan Zhan had never really been shy, just private. Pictures were one thing. This was another. A video? Of both of them?

“You look really good today, Lan Zhan,” Wei Ying said, voice a little low. His hand was a little shaky, Lan Zhan noticed. He laughed and tried to pull his hand free, but Lan Zhan kept it where it was. Any excuse to keep touching Wei Ying.

Wei Ying let him was the thing. He let them remain close, almost breathing the same air as Lan Zhan pretended he was reading the comments. The things these people were saying about him and Wei Ying, the flip and carefree way they wanted more of their interactions rather than less…

It made Lan Zhan want.

His palm was clammy, cold with sweat and he didn’t have boba to explain it away. He didn’t have the excuse anymore to linger, so he let go, took a step backward that knocked the back of his legs against his chair, couldn’t look Wei Ying in the eye because he got as far as Wei Ying’s pink cheeks and darted his gaze away again.

Wei Ying swayed toward him and then shot upright, rounding the desk to squeeze his way into Lan Zhan’s chair.

Wei Ying swiped at the screen repeatedly, the tapping sound loud in the quiet that followed. “The response has been great anyway,” he said. “Everyone seems to love you. It was just a thought.”

Lan Zhan’s eyebrow climbed his forehead. He very much doubted that. “What else have they said?”

Wei Ying’s glance was sly out of the corner of his eye. “Lan Zhan, are we growing vain?”

“Just curious.” I’m not lovable, he didn’t let himself think, except to you once.

“They think you’re very handsome and diligent obviously,” Wei Ying answered, blithe and unconcerned. “They think it’s amazing that you could be so cool and slick in my presence.”

Lan Zhan frowned. That wasn’t even remotely true and didn’t sound at all plausible. “That’s not what they’re saying.” Most of what he’d just seen was commenting on Wei Ying’s appearance, not anything to do with Lan Zhan except for the handsome gege nonsense.

“It is!” He leaned back and then forward, kicking his legs again. “‘Ah, Mister Lan is so smooth! I would die in Yingying’s presence and here he is just acting normal.’ Stuff like that.” He made another swiping gesture with his fingertip. “More seriously, there’s also a lot of people who are impressed by your olfactory prowess. You’ve got fans already demonstrating their expertise. A lot of them are bringing up that event you did and a bunch of people are sad that they missed out now. They really want you to do another one.”

“We did.”

“What?”

“The event we did. It couldn’t have happened without you.”

“Pfft.” Wei Ying laughed, infectious. “Lan Zhan, seriously. You did all the work.”

Lan Zhan opened his mouth and closed it again. With so much of his day wrapped up in Gentian House’s day-to-day operations as well as Wei Ying’s scent, he really didn’t have much room left in the day for teaching like that. But he’d loved it a lot, loved having Wei Ying playing around with the crowd while they listened diligently to what he had to say about perfumes, perfectly encapsulating his passion for it as an artistic medium and as a medium for personal expression.

“Maybe in the future,” he replied, not willing yet to close the door though he probably ought to. What would be the point when Wei Ying wouldn’t be there with him, watching, playing right along?

“So,” Wei Ying went on, ignorant of Lan Zhan’s desires. “Can I post a video?”

“Of what?”

“Us! I could pester you about your notebook, give everyone a sneak peek?”

His perfumer’s instinct took over. “Not that.”

“Could I try to get a sneak peek and then you can swat me aside? They’ll love it.”

“I won’t do that.”

“Well, whatever you want to do? What do you say?”

It turned out he could deny Wei Ying nothing. “Very well.” He waited, somewhat impatiently, for whatever it was to happen. At first Wei Ying merely hummed to himself and stared at the ceiling. And then he nodded, decisive, as he climbed to his feet and returned to the other side of the desk.

“Sit back down, Lan Zhan. Look like you’re working.”

Before he could ask what Wei Ying was doing, Wei Ying started speaking to the phone, all about catching a rare glimpse of the handsome gege in his natural habitat.

If Lan Zhan’s ears were burning before, they were going to incinerate themselves soon.

“Now, this handsome gege is shy—”

“Not shy.” Lan Zhan surprised himself. He hadn’t intended to say anything.

“The reclusive handsome gege likes to maintain an air of mystery.” Sliding to his feet smoothly, he crept forward and turned the phone. “He’s not shy.”

“He’s working,” Lan Zhan answered, uncertain where this came from either.

“Let’s find out what he’s working on, shall we?” Wei Ying offered a discreet thumbs up out of frame. “Gege, what are you working on?”

Lan Zhan coughed delicately into his fist. “Perfume.”

“Can I see?”

“No.”

Contorting himself so that the phone remained as it was but he could slip into frame, too, he pouted. “You won’t let your very best Wei Ying see?”

Lan Zhan’s heart slammed against his chest. This was just for the camera. Wei Ying wasn’t being cruel. This was teasing meant to intrigue his fans only. It wasn’t his fault that Lan Zhan wanted nothing more than for Wei Ying to be his very best in truth.

Retreating from the frame, Wei Ying jutted out his lower lip theatrically. For Lan Zhan’s benefit only. Turned this way, the camera could no longer see Wei Ying’s face, so he mouthed, “Say no again.”

Instead, he shook his head, somber and looked directly into the camera. At the last second, Wei Ying tipped the phone down a bit, focusing more on the notebook though it was too far away to get a good view, and then he tapped the screen. “Ah, Lan Zhan, you’re so smart. This’ll be fun.” He tapped again at the screen a few times and then gave it over to Lan Zhan. “For your approval, Lan Zhan.”

Lan Zhan watched it in a haze, handed the phone back, and nodded.

After Wei Ying posted it, he went back to sitting across from Lan Zhan, watching him as he tried—and failed—to work. It was quiet for maybe three minutes total before Wei Ying started huffing in amusement.

“What?” Lan Zhan asked, pulled from thoughts of incorporating ginger into this formula by the sound.

“Oh, nothing.” But he was biting his lip, insouciant.

“What is it?”

“Just, uh. The response.”

“Already?” Did it even have time to load?

“Mmhmm.” In a slight falsetto, he recited the responses, “‘Ah, Mister Lan, such an ice prince to look at Ying-gege and not melt.’ ‘So powerful!’ ‘Ying-ge has really met his match.’ ‘How can he tease our Yingying so?’”

His brow furrowed as he kept reading, putting Lan Zhan on edge with how hard he was concentrating. Before Lan Zhan could ask, he said, “What are the INPAs?”

Huffing in bitter amusement, Lan Zhan said, “Nothing I should be thinking about right now.”

“But what is it?”

“The International Niche Perfumer’s Awards.”

“Why shouldn’t you?”

“I can’t even guarantee I’ll do justice to this project. To try for more would be ridiculous.”

Wei Ying frowned, brow furrowing as he continued to look at Lan Zhan. He looked long enough that Lan Zhan almost fidgeted under the scrutiny, expecting him to push for more.

“Lan Zhan, I’ve snooped a bit in your lab,” he replied, pointing helpfully in the direction of said lab, though it couldn’t be seen through the walls of Lan Zhan’s office. “I know what you can do. You don’t need Cloud Recesses. It might be inconvenient and you don’t have whatever fancy ingredients they might be able to get a hold of or a lab tech to do your bidding, but you never needed that anyway.”

No, his hands were already too full with impossible dreams. He couldn’t add more. Winning an award was a pointless metric anyway.

“Lan Zhan?” Wei Ying called, a little sharp, snapping his fingers in front of his face to draw his attention back as he sat on the edge of the desk and slid close. Instinctively, Lan Zhan reached out and took hold of his hand, stopping him from doing so again. “Why are you so far away?”

But he wasn’t; he was right here. And Wei Ying was… supporting him when he didn’t deserve it.

“I’m right here,” Lan Zhan said, feeling the words were unnecessary when the physical proof was there. And then he did something very stupid because his heart was very, very full and Wei Ying was truly something special to put aside their past and be here with Lan Zhan even when there was no reason for him to do so.

Leaning in, he was close enough to breathe the same air as Wei Ying, feel Wei Ying’s warmth, take Wei Ying in his arms, ki—

“Lan Zhan,” Wei Ying said, voice cracking. His hand formed points against his chest as he pushed Lan Zhan back. His eyes were bright when Lan Zhan looked up at him. He took a shaky breath and reached for Lan Zhan’s hand. “I… don’t think that’s a good idea, do you?”

He actually rather thought it was the best idea, but he could see why Wei Ying would think otherwise. “I’m—” Honestly, he didn’t know why he did it at all. That wasn’t who he was. He wouldn’t have… When he tried to pull back though, Wei Ying held tight to his wrist. “Wei Ying, I’m sorry. That was inappropriate. I know I don’t deserve—”

Wei Ying let out a breath. His smile, when he built it back up on his mouth, was sad. “I wish I could,” he said, open, honest. “I would like nothing more than to…”

But there was so much still between them, roadblocks that Lan Zhan himself had put up and never tore down, never tried to tear down. In over ten years of having known he’d made a terrible mistake, he never once tried to rectify it. And soon, Wei Ying would be gone again anyway. It was pointless. This was what he’d wrought. It wasn’t Wei Ying’s burden to bear, too.

“If I could keep things casual with you,” Wei Ying said, wistful, “it would be nice, but I know I can’t and so we can’t. Do you understand?”

It was strange to hear these words from Wei Ying, who did everything else in his life with such abandon. He was glad that Wei Ying chose to be careful about this, guard his own heart. It hurt that he was protecting himself from Lan Zhan, but he was glad, too.

“I don’t want you to have any regrets about spending time with me,” Wei Ying added.

“That’s ridiculous,” Lan Zhan replied. “I couldn’t—”

“Lan Zhan, you could.” He pressed his hand to Lan Zhan’s cheek, swiped his thumb over Lan Zhan’s lower lip before he let go of Lan Zhan entirely. “Let’s just be friends, okay? We’ve been pretty good at that so far.”

They were great at that, but Lan Zhan wasn’t sure he could do it.

He would, he supposed, try for as long as possible. Maybe with time, he’d be as good at it as Wei Ying was. This much of Wei Ying was worthwhile. If Wei Ying was so willing to be so gracious, then Lan Zhan would do what he could to live up to that graciousness.

“Okay,” Lan Zhan said, willing the disappointment from his voice. “Okay, we can do that.”

Wei Ying searched Lan Zhan’s face, mouth pulled in a frown. “You’re not disappointed?”

“No, of course not,” Lan Zhan said, embarrassed. It was less difficult to accept the rejection than it was the fact that he’d pulled such a move at all. It wasn’t like him and he wished he could take it back to avoid causing Wei Ying any discomfort. “I’m sorry I…”

“Don’t be sorry,” Wei Ying answered. “I’m not. I’m just… I’ll stop teasing you, okay? I shouldn’t have done that. That’s not fair to you. I’ll be better.”

Lan Zhan didn’t know how that was possible, but the alternative was not taking Wei Ying at his word, which he couldn’t do without causing more embarrassment.

He never wanted to be a burden to Wei Ying.

“So!” Wei Ying said, crisp, covering for the awkwardness. “Why don’t I get some shots of your lab? To post? Sound good?”

Lan Zhan could say nothing to Wei Ying except yes.

It wasn’t the yes he wanted to give to him, but if it was the only one he could, then he would gladly give it.

The next few days passed in mostly the same way: Wei Ying found himself haunting Gentian House’s backroom areas while he fussed over post after post, carefully building Lan Zhan’s follower count while he generated more stuff that could be uploaded once he was gone, a parting gift of sorts, because he didn’t quite know how to let go.

Every moment was precious now and he counted every one of them even though they were a little more awkward than before. He felt it especially when he had to waste half a day’s worth doing something else, one of those stupid agreements he’d made before realizing what was going to fall into his lap.

“Hey! Wei Ying, earth to the model,” the photographer said, snapping his fingers in front of Wei Ying’s face like he was a puppy. Why did they always have to snap their fingers? “We’re not paying you to be a space cadet. I need you to look at this camera like you want to fuck it.”

Whatever. He was doing this as a favor. Half a day with a photographer known for being a lazy fucker who wanted shit done as quickly as possible. It was Wei Ying’s right to lack focus. Especially when he’d woken up to a message—Lan Zhan could message him now! Nie Huaisang had foisted Lan Zhan’s number on him and he’d taken reckless advantage of it and now Lan Zhan initiated text conversations—from Lan Zhan specifically asking him to meet. They’d had to arrange it for the afternoon because someone—this asshole—needed help.

Wei Ying couldn’t even muster embarrassment at having been caught out daydreaming even though it was unprofessional in the extreme. Pissed, he stared directly at said camera and maybe looked at it like he wanted it to fuck off. It was good enough for the photographer, some edgelord based out of New York most of the time and it showed. After he finished this round of shots, Wei Ying couldn’t help calling out, “What is it with you photographers and wanting models to fuck inanimate objects, huh? Is it some kind of fetish or something?”

“What?” the guy asked, annoyed.

“Are we done?” Wei Ying said, louder.

“Yeah. Get out of here.”

“Great. Thank you.” He climbed to his feet from where he was half-sprawled across the floor in the service of selling a… handbag.

The problem with still taking other jobs was the fact that they seemed so much worse than working with Lan Zhan. And that was even acknowledging the fact that they’d come so close to crossing a line Wei Ying was doing his best to avoid crossing. Even with that kind of baggage, it was better.

And best—worst—of all, it wasn’t even his fault. Lan Zhan… Lan Zhan still felt something for him. Or felt something new. It was Lan Zhan who had almost kissed him, had wanted to kiss him in that moment they’d shared. And Lan Zhan wasn’t… he didn’t do things impulsively. In whatever way he could, he meant it.

Wei Ying just—couldn’t let it mean whatever Lan Zhan wanted it to mean and he couldn’t let it mean what he himself wanted it to mean. He didn’t think Lan Zhan was trying to tease or play with him; Lan Zhan was too honest and not cruel enough for it, but it still couldn’t work between them.

The thing that had parted them was also the thing that had brought them back together again, but Wei Ying couldn’t forget about the first half of that truth. It had ripped them apart and nothing in the intervening years had changed. Lan Zhan was still dedicated to his craft and Wei Ying…

Wei Ying couldn’t get in the middle of that. He’d unknowingly forced Lan Zhan to make a decision once; nothing, nothing would allow him to knowingly do so now.

Besides, he already knew Lan Zhan’s heart; there would be no recovering from facing the consequences a second time.

The makeup was scrubbed from his face quickly and efficiently. He divested himself of the clothes given to him, quickly threw his own back on, took his phone from the PA holding onto it and sighed in relief to know he wouldn’t be late meeting Lan Zhan at the address he’d sent along with the request.

Wen Ning was already waiting outside. At this time of day, traffic was thinner on the ground than usual, so he was actually a little early to meet Lan Zhan at Xiao Xingchen’s glass-design studio. “Thanks, Wen Ning! I’m not sure when I’ll be done, so I’ll find my own way home!”

Despite his unusual earliness, Lan Zhan was waiting for him already, just out front, more serene than he’d been the last couple of days.

The latest he could do was treat Lan Zhan with the same respect and tried to calm down. “Lan Zhan, hi!”

Lan Zhan searched his face.

“What, uh, are we doing here?” Wei Ying asked. “I’ve been curious all day.”

“We will be discussing the bottle that will be used for your perfume,” Lan Zhan said simply as he opened the door and gestured Wei Ying inside.

“Isn’t it a bit early for that?” Wei Ying didn’t know much about the perfume making process, but he felt like this should be a late-stage thing. The perfume wasn’t even finalized yet.

The hallway of the building was beautifully appointed, elegant with whimsical little touches. Wei Ying assumed they were Xiao Xingchen’s past works on display, sophisticated glass that gleamed in lighted, reflective boxes. Each work looked a little bit like candy, the sort of thing you wanted to touch and taste, sweet and refined.

“Yes,” Lan Zhan replied, drawing Wei Ying’s attention back. “But it’s important to have the right bottle for the right perfume and that requires your input. I can’t guarantee—well, it’s better to do that before you leave, isn’t it?”

Right. His trip. Just—it was fantastic to be reminded of that. Time to think about something else. “Xiao Xingchen has done all of your bottles, right? How did you meet?” Wei Ying asked, feeling stupidly jealous for no good reason. “Do you go way back?”

“Mn,” Lan Zhan replied, warm. “We happened to collaborate on a perfume for Jin Zixuan a few years ago. He is very smart and has interesting ideas. It’s unfortunate that the world of perfume doesn’t always reward such things.”

“You’d know a little something about that?”

Lan Zhan’s gaze sharpened, but he nodded and lifted his chin. Not a denial.

He was relieved when they reached Xiao Xingchen’s studio proper, where they were greeted by a tall, gentle man with a radiant smile and his somber, serious shadow. Xiao Xingchen introduced him as Song Lan, his partner, who was a graphic designer and often designed the packaging to go along with Xiao Xingchen’s bottles.

They were quite a team. It didn’t send a pang of longing through him. Absolutely not.

“Lan Zhan,” Xiao Xingchen said, fondness in his gaze. “It’s good to see you.” His attention turned to Wei Ying and there was even more warmth in his eyes for him. “And you are Wei Ying, of course.”

Laughing lightly, Wei Ying brushed his hand through his hair. “Ah, yes. It’s nice to meet you.”

“Lan Zhan’s told us a lot about you,” Xiao Xingchen said, breezy, as though his words weren’t enough to leave Wei Ying breathless. When he looked at Lan Zhan, his ears were turning a little red, though his face remained impassive.

“Ah ha,” Wei Ying said, awkwardly pleased and concerned all at the same time. It seemed strange to him that Lan Zhan would say anything at all about him to anyone, let alone someone he esteemed as highly as Xiao Xingchen. “I’m sure I’m even more obnoxious than he’s said.”

“Oh, you mistake me,” Xiao Xingchen replied while Song Lan silently raised one eyebrow. “He regards you quite highly, I can assure you. I hope I haven’t given offense. I’ve been looking forward to meeting you is all. I don’t think I’ve ever heard Lan Zhan describe anyone the way he’s described you.”

“Xingchen,” Song Lan said, quiet. “I believe he was joking.”

“Oh,” he said, looking between Wei Ying and Lan Zhan. “Sorry.”

“It’s nothing,” Lan Zhan said, crisp, but not rude, not put out. “Wei Ying deserves to know.”

Xiao Xingchen’s smile grew warm and approving as he turned his attention to Wei Ying again, who now bore a striking similarity to Lan Zhan if the heat that flooded his own face was any indication. It meant more to him than Lan Zhan could know that he would still think so well of Wei Ying.

“Lan Zhan, thanks,” he said, uncertain of what else to say.

Wei Ying, still floored by Lan Zhan’s comparatively casual admission, was glad when the attention turned to Xiao Xingchen’s work with no awkward intercession by Wei Ying. He had no idea what to expect out of this meeting, but as it turned out, it was even more interesting than he might have guessed. Or rather, watching Lan Zhan, he expected to be interested, but in and of itself, hearing Xiao Xingchen’s thoughts on his work was also fun. Watching passionate people work was one of Wei Ying’s favorite things to do.

“You’ll have to excuse me, Wei Ying,” Xiao Xingchen said to him specifically, startling him from the passive way he’d been enjoying the show.

“Ah!” He scrubbed his hand through his hair and grinned, caught out. “Why do I have to excuse you?”

“Having you here now makes it all feel a little invasive is all,” he replied, serene despite the apologetic tone. “When Lan Zhan told me what the perfume was, I looked into your past work in the hopes of incorporating… you into the design. Or the perception of you.” He turned to Lan Zhan, now including him in the conversation. “I would perhaps like to adjust the designs a little now that we’ve met.”

“Uh.” He didn’t want to be rude and suggest it was just a bottle, that anything at all was fine, that he wasn’t certain he wanted to insinuate himself any more into this project than was already, so he merely added, “That’s all Lan Zhan’s call. I’m just… here.”

“Is that so?” Xiao Xingchen said agreeably enough.

Wei Ying wasn’t sure if he was getting backed into a corner or not, but it certainly felt like there was no good response he could give. “I mean, I’m not just here,” he babbled. “I want to be here, but this is Lan Zhan’s work at the end of the day. He’s the one who needs to be satisfied with it. That’s all.”

He didn’t know why it was so important for Lan Zhan to know he didn’t feel like he was only here because he had to be. That wasn’t it at all, even if his words were awkward and poorly thought through.

“Even so,” Xiao Xingchen said. “It’s a little strange to be faced with the inspiration himself.” Then he seemed to shake himself from his thoughts. “If you’ll both give me a few moments? We can discuss this in more detail after I’ve considered one or two alterations to what I’ve done already.” He gestured subtly at Song Lan, who turned away to confer with him, not even giving enough time for him or Lan Zhan to respond.

Wei Ying looked at Lan Zhan, shrugging. Your call. It was only as weird to be the ‘inspiration,’ as Xiao Xingchen said, as it had to be. If Wei Ying pretended it wasn’t, then perhaps it didn’t have to be for them either. It was, he supposed, flattering to know that Xiao Xingchen wanted to be so… accurate.

Most people didn’t care to look past the surface with Wei Ying. There was a lot of surface to get past after all. It used to be purposefully done on his part. Now it was just a part of his job.

If he was better at such things, he would have thanked Xiao Xingchen for his care.

Instead, he sidled up to Lan Zhan and nudged him with his elbow. “Are you excited about your bottle?” he asked in a low tone, certain he wouldn’t be heard by Xiao Xingchen. “This is all really cool!”

Lan Zhan said nothing for a moment, as expected. His words were always measured, always considered. He gave Wei Ying’s questions their due and worked always to give the best answers. “I’m glad you’re not bored.”

“How could I be? This is your thing. I like getting to be a part of it!”

Lan Zhan’s mouth parted like he was surprised by the possibility. “Wei Ying…”

Before Lan Zhan could say anything else, Xiao Xingchen was turning back around. He beckoned Wei Ying and Lan Zhan forward and then stepped aside. On the table were several bristol boards filled with sketches and color swatches. On the first was a variation on Lan Zhan’s usual bottle, the same elegantly minimalist shape, only the glass was black and red. One version had it in a gradient, the second, each color swirling and mixing. Both had slightly different tops, somehow sexier than Lan Zhan’s usual, yet still identifiably his brand.

Wei Ying didn’t hate it exactly. He could understand exactly how Xiao Xingchen would get this impression of him from whatever research he’d done. It was very much the idea of him that others had gotten over the years and he’d helped cultivate it, but he was relieved, too, when he looked at Lan Zhan and saw a hint of disapproval there. No, not disapproval, nor even disappointment, but had this been the only option, Lan Zhan would have said no, Wei Ying was sure.

He found he liked that.

Then, they turned their attention to the second board. These were quite a bit better, abandoning the black and keeping the red, a little more playful and bright, pleasing to the eye. Wei Ying liked the subtle suggestion of texture in the arrowed pattern of the glass.

There was a small smile on Lan Zhan’s mouth, but before he could approve of it out loud, Xiao Xingchen was already saying, “I’ll need to refine it a bit more, of course, but this is much nicer, isn’t it? I think the red with clear glass will look beautiful.” His fingers brushed over the board. “It’s a little different for you, but that’s not a bad thing, I think. It was nice of you to bring this challenge to us.”

Song Lan nodded, which, to Wei Ying’s eyes, seemed like a miracle.

“Song Lan’s designs are a little more okay as is,” he added, pulling another board from beneath the two. The box was gray with black and red embossed foil, the color hand-painted to give the illusion of depth and sheen. “We can adjust the colors obviously, but I rather like it even now.”

“It’s good,” Lan Zhan said. “The bottle, too.”

Xiao Xingchen smiled graciously and inclined his head. “And you?” he asked Wei Ying.

“They’re great,” Wei Ying said, nodding, all the while knowing fuck all about perfume bottles or their designs. He did, at least, know that he preferred the second, not least of all because Lan Zhan seemed to agree. “You do amazing work here.”

As Wei Ying wandered around the studio, keeping his hands firmly in his back pockets to stop from reaching out to touch anything, Lan Zhan asked about the invoice. Though he tried to ignore the conversation, he couldn’t quite stop himself. He knew money was tight for Lan Zhan and even he mentally swooned at the number quoted.

“—the manufacturing costs will be a little higher than your usual as well. You’ll need new custom molds made and—”

Wei Ying turned in time to see Lan Zhan look at the board. “What if you cut back on the packaging? I’m sorry, Song Lan. It’s beautiful, but—”

Lan Zhan even had to compromise on this.

“Don’t cut back,” Wei Ying said. His voice seemed to echo slightly, louder than everyone else’s. “Lan Zhan…” He stomped back over. “Let me take my fee last.”

“I already—”

“I know, but I need you to follow your vision on this. I know you’re good for it.” This was probably embarrassing to Lan Zhan, but he couldn’t let Lan Zhan walk out of here without this at least. He could be angry if he had to be, but he would take this. “Pay these fine men for the work they’ve already done and worry about the manufacturing costs later, okay? I’m sure they have better things to do than pull back for you.”

Lan Zhan’s shoulders slumped and then he nodded. Wei Ying didn’t want to defeat him this way, but… but it felt important. The fact that he didn’t argue was telling.

Lan Zhan and Xiao Xingchen chatted for a little while longer, hashing out further projections and breakdowns of cost, while Wei Ying hung back. This time, he kept his thoughts to himself.

Xiao Xingchen offered his goodbyes to Wei Ying and, very suddenly, that was that.

And then they were alone as they walked out of Xiao Xingchen’s studio and back onto the street. It felt like they’d been there for hours, but in truth, it hadn’t been that long. It was still bright outside, hours yet until nightfall and Wei Ying was rudderless, torn between the feeling that the afternoon was endless and that it would flash past him in the blink of an eye.

It was never a good thing when he got into such moods, torn so inexplicably in so many directions: stay, go, kiss, don’t kiss, love, do not dare love. Especially not once he blurted, as they walked down the street, “Why did we break up?”

That was not what he wanted to say, but his mouth wasn’t at all interested in what his brain wanted. “I mean, I know why we broke up,” he failed to backtrack, “but… I wouldn’t have tried to get in the way of your dreams.”

Wincing, Wei Ying looked away. It wasn’t fair of him to start bringing this all up now, not after he’d turned Lan Zhan down before. If they were going to be friends, how could he talk about this? What did it even matter now? What was done was done and they knew where they stood and it was fine just the way it was.

Lan Zhan stopped, looked Wei Ying over, frowned in consideration. He said, after a time, “I know.”

Without any elaboration, Wei Ying felt his stomach settle into something that might have been called dread if he was willing to call it anything at all. He could have understood it if Lan Zhan was worried about that. Wei Ying could be a handful, but if that wasn’t the reason…

“I was the one who couldn’t find any balance,” Lan Zhan said, “when we were together. At the time…”

A little of Wei Ying’s dread faded at Lan Zhan’s words. “We were very young, weren’t we?” Admittedly, he didn’t feel too much older now, but he was, he hoped, at least a little wiser.

“Mn.” He drew in a deep breath. “I still don’t know if it was the right thing to do at the time.”

“Look at where you ended up though,” Wei Ying said, feeling awkward all of a sudden for having pushed for this. Whatever else had happened, he did own Gentian House. He was achieving his dreams. That was worthwhile. “This is what you always wanted, right? I mean, right now it kind of sucks, but other than that, it’s good, isn’t it?”

Lan Zhan hummed in response, noncommittal. He began walking again at a sedate pace, gaze firmly on the ground before him.

Wei Ying probably shouldn’t have done it, but he reached out to touch Lan Zhan’s wrist anyway before he could stop himself. “Lan Zhan?”

Lan Zhan went still, even more still than he usually did, as still as any statue, but even more beautiful. “It is fine,” he said, voice low. “It’s what I wanted.”

He leaned so heavily on the word wanted, wanted in the past, not necessarily wanted in the present, that Wei Ying nearly tripped over his feet trying to understand what he meant by that. “Lan Zhan?”

But Lan Zhan was done exposing himself through his words, because he said nothing further, kept up his regular pace, did nothing to suggest he’d said anything groundbreaking or out of the ordinary.

He’d wanted, but it sounded like…

It sounded like Lan Zhan was giving up on wanting entirely.

Then

Lan Zhan woke up at half-past eight to find Wei Ying braced above him. His bangs obscured his eyes and shadowed his face. The only thing that was perfectly visible was the grin on Wei Ying’s mouth, one that Lan Zhan couldn’t help but reach up to kiss away. His mouth, unlike Lan Zhan’s, tasted of mint, but given how thoroughly Wei Ying explored Lan Zhan’s mouth with his tongue, Wei Ying didn’t seem to care.

Something fragile unfurled in Lan Zhan’s chest, something new and exciting and maybe a little dangerous. Every day with Wei Ying felt this way, until the months had stacked with new and exciting, dangerous things. Loved things. Beloved things.

Happiness, he thought that something was. He was happy. And not happy in the way his work made him happy, content and at peace, no. This happiness threatened to puncture him, tear him apart at the seams, rebuild him into something better than before.

“Lan Zhan, let’s go to the beach,” Wei Ying said.

The beach—any decent beach anyway—was far enough away by every metric that a trip would probably necessitate staying overnight to be of any value at all, that or they would have had to get up far earlier to make the best use of the day.

Lan Zhan had planned to study today. He should be studying today. His uncle would be testing him on his ability to identify scents in a week the way he did every month and they were always grueling experiences. They lasted all day and sometimes ran into the evening if his uncle thought he was doing particularly well. Regardless, his uncle always questioned him until his head ached and he was certain that his nasal cavity would never recover.

He should have said no, faced Wei Ying’s disappointment openly, perhaps offered an alternative that wasn’t quite as good.

He should have said no.

He did not want to.

A trip to the beach sounded good to him in a way it never would have sounded good before. With Wei Ying by his side, everything sounded so good.

His future, his calling… he knew it was important, but he was seeing, too, thanks to Wei Ying, that his future wouldn’t matter as much if it wasn’t populated with experiences like this.

How could he ever hope to convey joy and love and warmth if he never got to feel those things for himself?

Wei Ying’s smile fell from his mouth and he straightened up, conveniently putting all of his weight on Lan Zhan’s lap, which was—good, but not the sort of good Lan Zhan was interested in right now. “Sorry, I shouldn’t have—it was just an idea… pretty stupid, short notice like that…”

“Wei Ying, no,” Lan Zhan answered, wrapping his hand around the back of Wei Ying’s neck to pull him back down into another kiss. He didn’t know what it was that Wei Ying saw on his face, why Wei Ying was suddenly shy and willing to back away, but—“No, I want to. Of course I want to.”

If he was being entirely honest with himself, he wanted, in that moment, only to make Wei Ying happy, like that was the highest possible calling he could aspire to. And Wei Ying’s answering smile was so worth it that he didn’t even mind that his uncle would be furious at him for even considering such a thing.

“Lan Zhan, I don’t want to disrupt your life,” Wei Ying said. His tone, serious and a little somber, belied the joy that smile brought. He was trying his best for Lan Zhan, to be what he thought Lan Zhan needed him to be, but he couldn’t quite repress himself in the process.

The last thing Lan Zhan wanted was for Wei Ying to repress himself. The second last thing Lan Zhan found himself wanting was to work. Hooking his arms beneath Wei Ying’s thighs, he lifted him up and squirmed out from underneath him. Though Wei Ying pouted, his eyes were sparkling. “Lan Zhan is too kind,” he crooned, throwing himself back into the pillows, rubbing his face back and forth in them before inhaling.

“A day at the beach isn’t a disruption,” Lan Zhan said stubbornly, even though it absolutely was and somewhere inside of Lan Zhan, he was marveling at himself for even considering doing this. “We should get ready.”

Before Wei Ying could argue or rethink his decision, Lan Zhan was already calling his brother.

As always, he picked up by the second ring and offered a warm good morning.

“I won’t be in today,” Lan Zhan said, “if uncle should wonder why I haven’t stopped by the offices and labs.”

“Oh?” Lan Huan asked, curious. “Are you feeling ill? You’re usually here by now.”

If he lied to Lan Huan, it would cause more problems than it would solve. He’d stop by with soup and medicines and five different bottles of electrolyte-infused water and tea and buns and then wonder why Lan Zhan wasn’t home. Too messy. And Wei Ying kept looking at him out of the corner of his eye, as though he, too, was waiting to see what Lan Zhan would do.

“I’m going to the beach,” he replied, “with my…”

Wei Ying pushed himself fully upright, eyes wide.

What do you want me to say, he mouthed, panic building behind his breastbone. They hadn’t really talked about this in any depth before. In the middle of a phone call seemed like a bad, bad idea.

“Anything,” Wei Ying whispered back, harsh, hurried.

“Boyfriend,” he finished, watching Wei Ying as his eyes went even wider. They went wide, but warm and soft, and that brilliant, gleaming smile of his might have shrunk in size, but it grew in feeling and now it wasn’t panic that shrieked in Lan Zhan’s chest, but gentle fondness.

There was silence on the other end of the line, probably as Lan Huan’s understanding of Lan Zhan realigned itself, but Lan Zhan was willing to give him that space considering he’d sprung this on him rather suddenly. Meanwhile, Wei Ying knee-walked his way to the end of the bed where Lan Zhan was standing and yanked at his t-shirt, pulling it up to press his hands against Lan Zhan’s side and across his back, his cheek resting against Lan Zhan’s chest.

“I’ll run interference with uncle,” Lan Huan finally said. “Enjoy yourself, A-Zhan.”

“I might be gone overnight,” Lan Zhan added, pushing where he probably shouldn’t have, but these were new waters, a deviation from the rules as they’d always known them. He needed to know how and when he could push them.

“Of course. When you come back, you should ensure you sound like you’re recovering from a cold. I’m going to tell uncle you’re not feeling well. I’ll probably have to go to the store to assuage his concerns. Is there anything you’d like me to pick up especially for when you return?”

“No,” Lan Zhan answered, curving his palm over the back of Wei Ying’s head, mussing his hair as he rubbed back and forth. “Thank you.”

“You shouldn’t thank me.”

“You’re lying for me,” Lan Zhan insisted. “That deserves my gratitude.”

“Uncle has been strict with both of us,” Lan Huan answered, “and neither of us have ever rebelled against his standards. One small lie isn’t going to topple everything. Have fun. You might even find a break will be beneficial to your work.”

That might be so, but he wasn’t going to take Lan Huan’s kindness for granted.

“If there’s ever anything I can do…” Lan Zhan said.

“Of course I know I can come to you, didi,” Lan Huan said, soothing. “Say hello to your boyfriend for me. I hope I’ll get to meet him some day!”

Lan Zhan swallowed back the sudden flare of emotion he felt at the thought of them getting introduced to one another. He could imagine how well they’d get along. The call ended and Lan Zhan felt lighter than he had in a very long time, even though he was technically lying to his uncle. “My brother says hello and that he hopes he’ll get to meet you one day.”

Wei Ying’s head tipped up, the point of his chin digging into Lan Zhan’s chest. “Aw, that’s nice. He sounds nice.”

“He is.”

“Not as nice as you, though.”

“Everyone thinks my brother is nicer,” Lan Zhan replied. “He is nicer.” He was warmer certainly and had far less trouble gaining the attention and admiration of others.

“Then I’ll be the exception,” Wei Ying said, proud, tapping his chest. “I’ll be the one to fight for your honor as the nicest.”

It was sweet to think of Wei Ying leading such a silly charge just for him. Wei Ying was sweet.

Lan Zhan was not very used to sweetness in his life.

He found very much that he wanted to cherish it and hold it close, keep it safe from the worst of what his family could do with sweet and cherished things.

Lan Huan seemed to be the only exception and that did little to help Lan Zhan under these circumstances.

Regardless, he would do his best. Bending toward Wei Ying, he kissed his forehead, returning some of that sweetness to him. He was rewarded with a hum of approval and a squeeze around the midsection as Wei Ying dragged him into a tight hug.

Now

If it could be said Lan Zhan was accomplishing anything, it was annoying himself with the sound of his own pen tapping away at his notebook as he failed to make any further progress. Even poking at the supplies he kept in his lab did less good than usual even though he’d been at it for hours by now. None of his ideas were sticking, not even as he read and reread Wei Ying’s responses to his questions or watched some of the videos he posted.

Hiding away in lab, doing nothing of use, wasn’t doing him any good; sighing in disgust, he stepped out front and—

He heard it before he saw it, but when he saw it…

“What’s all this?” The store was filled with people, young people, all of them engaging with his perfumes of their own accord. A few occupied themselves in the corner with a tray of tea and others would stop and chat with them or take their place.

Luo Qingyang lifted her head and offered a smile. “Your boy’s worked wonders,” she said, waving her phone around. “I’ve never seen this much engagement with the page.” Or maybe it was the same sort of problem only Lan Zhan didn’t have to see it because he spent most of his time in the back. With Wei Ying. He supposed he had, over the last two, nearly three, spent a lot more time with Wei Ying than he’d spent minding the store. Only since he’d… only since he’d tried to kiss Wei Ying had he worked in earnest though and that meant sequestering himself. It wasn’t anything Luo Qingyang wasn’t used to, but there wasn’t usually this much work. “Have you figured out what you’re going to do about sourcing molecules?”

No. Sort of. There was somewhat more money coming in, which helped, but he was still precariously balanced. That would help with the bank if it came down to it, but he privately scoffed at the idea. Nobody in his family had had to throw themselves at the mercy of a bank to stay afloat.

Shame filled him at the thought, which he shoved aside because there were more pressing concerns. “I’m working on it,” he said, which meant he still had no idea how he intended to pay for the concentrée of Wei Ying’s perfume.

“Anything I can do to help?” she asked.

“No. Thank you.”

“Is Wei Ying stopping by today?”

“I don’t know,” Lan Zhan answered. “I haven’t spoken to him yet.” It still seemed too early by the arbitrary standards he’d settled on for interacting with Wei Ying. Usually he stopped by around ten. It was only just nine. There was still time.

“You might want to warn him off,” she said. “I dunno how many of these people are here because they’re hoping he’ll show up?” Shrugging, she scrolled through the feed some more. “It might be a busy day.”

Refusing to be disappointed, Lan Zhan nodded. “Thank you for the warning. I’ll let him know.”

He needed to finalize the formula anyway. At this point, he was just dragging his feet, using the rest of his life right now as an excuse to avoid it.

Too soon, he thought as he returned to the lab. It’s too soon to start saying goodbye again.

Not that he had a choice in that either. Wei Ying would be leaving in two, three days? Surely he had things to do that didn’t involve Lan Zhan. Lan Zhan had asked for this when he let his own ambitions get the better of him. It was the least of what Lan Zhan deserved.

Though Lan Zhan wanted to ask him to come anyway, he did his duty, not wishing Wei Ying to find himself randomly accosted by fans. Sending a text was easy enough, he supposed, for all that it took him a good twenty minutes to compose it. Though they’d managed to give one another their numbers finally, they didn’t really use it. Hadn’t had to. Wei Ying, if you were planning to come by today, you perhaps shouldn’t. It’s pretty busy. Luo Qingyang thinks they might be fans of yours.

The reply was instantaneous. Ah, I have the best fans with the best taste, he shot back. They’re fine. Most are pretty low-key and respectful. Maybe someone finally figured out I’ve been stalking your place, ha.

What about your safety?

My fans are fine generally. I could bring Wen Ning though. He’s pretty inconspicuous, but he can hold his own. It wouldn’t be much different than the seminar you held. Besides, I haven’t had my daily dose of Lan Zhan yet!

“You’re a menace,” he said, though nobody was around to hear it.

It wasn’t Wei Ying’s fault that he was like this, that he could be so openly affectionate. He’d always been so. It was what had attracted Lan Zhan to him from the start. It was, unfortunately, what attracted Lan Zhan to him now. He would always be attracted to Wei Ying and he would always be the one who’d denied that fact in the end. It didn’t matter how sweet and loving and over the top and obnoxious and desired Wei Ying was, Lan Zhan will have always looked all of that in its very beautiful face and put himself first.

The fact that Wei Ying didn’t tell him to fuck off was incredible enough.

Wei Ying, it’s unnecessary, he typed. And then he swallowed, abandoning himself because he knew that wouldn’t work. None of what Wei Ying had done for him so far was necessary and yet, he did it anyway. If you want to see me, I’ll come to you.

That—was not what he intended to say. Or do. But…

But he could work on a formula anywhere. All it required was his notebook and a pen; he didn’t even have to go back and grab his laptop since he technically had all of his inventory in spreadsheets accessible from his phone.

Wei Ying typed and stopped, typed and stopped. And then finally: are you sure?

No. No, he hadn’t been sure of anything in a very long time, but that didn’t stop him from typing back. Yes.

It was a bad idea the moment he told Luo Qingyang where he was going and it was a bad idea as he chose to walk the distance to Wei Ying’s apartment rather than drive or take public transportation, needing time to accept that he really was a mess, that he’d gratefully sweep up every crumb he could get of Wei Ying and more. It was a bad idea, but he didn’t care.

Even though he chose to walk, he still arrived far too quickly, was buzzed in far too quickly, greeted at the door far too quickly. Unlike last time, overwhelmed by so many people, he actually paid attention to the room this time. Wei Ying’s home was lovely as he stepped inside, spacious, yet warm, with touches from so many different sources of taste: a tchotchke from who knew where in a shadowbox on the wall, an elegantly sleek incense burner on a coffee table in front of a beaten up old couch that nevertheless looked comfortable and inviting.

“So, uh, welcome back!” Wei Ying said, nervously twisting his hands as he closed the door behind Lan Zhan. “I have tea if you want some.”

“I don’t wish to intrude,” Lan Zhan murmured, following Wei Ying into the kitchen area. It, too, was a neatly kept space, well-loved, lived in.

“Please, as though you could intrude anywhere you went.” Wei Ying waved him off, unconcerned, and gestured toward the nook from before. “I’ll try not to get in the way of whatever it is you need to do. I’m sure you’re busy with… everything.”

“I’m just finalizing the formula.” Or trying to. It was a little difficult when the only thing Lan Zhan really cared about was placing a mug of tea before him and then taking the bench across from him. Or maybe it was a little difficult because he was still so off-footed from everything that happened and it was so much easier to focus on Wei Ying. “I should have versions for you tomorrow or the day after.”

“Cutting it close?”

Lan Zhan swallowed. “Yes.”

“Can I help?” Wei Ying asked. “I mean, I know I can’t help help, but is there anything I can do?”

As Lan Zhan retrieved his notebook from his bag, he considered. “You don’t feel like you’ve already helped?”

Staring down into his mug, Wei Ying pressed his fingers against the sides of the ceramic, warming his palms. “I’m just doing my job so far. It wasn’t even really my idea originally.”

Drawing in a deep breath, Lan Zhan leaned forward, covered one of Wei Ying’s hands with his own. Perhaps it was too forward, but Wei Ying didn’t seem to notice it. “I don’t believe there are many people out there who would have done what you’re doing. Trust me, you’ve already helped so much.”

“But—”

“Getting to be here with you is enough. That’s helpful to me. Will that set your mind at ease?”

Wei Ying continued to fidget, but he nodded. “I suppose I could at least keep your tea topped up while you’re here.”

Lan Zhan smiled a little bit at that. How was it that Wei Ying had grown to be so considerate? He’d always been a generous, exuberant man, but it was almost impossible to believe he’d grown so conscientious, too.

“Wei Ying,” Lan Zhan said, trying to be as gracious as Wei Ying was managing to be. “Your presence is enough.”

Wide-eyed, Wei Ying stared at him, mug forgotten halfway to his mouth and then the words seemed to penetrate and he said something under his breath, light and airy, mouth curving prettily upward, and he was saying, “Lan Zhan, you’re too smooth.”

Lan Zhan ducked his head and turned his attention to the notebook. As Wei Ying promised and despite Lan Zhan’s insistence that it wasn’t necessary, he brought tea as soon as Lan Zhan’s mug emptied. Each time, it was a different green or white or herbal, low caffeine and perfectly brewed, interesting to taste, a pleasant, low-risk surprise.

He appreciated it truly and he looked forward to each new offering as he scratched out ingredients, put new ones in their place, manipulated the quantities in black and white, most of it taking place within his mind.

The whole time, he calculated how much it would cost. He refused to budge. If he managed to find the right formula… he had to take the chance.

“Is that really how it works?” Wei Ying asked when Lan Zhan stretched, an organic point at which he could take a break and Wei Ying sensed he could ask the question. “You’re able to just… come up with it all on paper?”

“I…” He looked down at the scribbles in his notebook. From the outside, it must look like madness. “I know most of these molecules like the back of my hand and how they interact with one another. This is… mostly to organize my thoughts.”

Wei Ying’s arm snaked across the table, pointed at the row of names. “What are all these?”

“Shorthand for whatever molecule I’d like to work with.”

Now Wei Ying stretched across, twisting his body slightly to better read the list. Lan Zhan helpfully, belatedly turned the notebook a little so Wei Ying could see more easily. He caught the scent of violet leaf in his hair, carrying hints of green blades of grass and crisp cucumber, and sweet, herbal carrot seed, a hint of salt and wood beneath it, a sophisticated unisex perfume. He didn’t know that Wei Ying wore such things.

It was not the sort of perfume Lan Zhan would have created, somehow both too deep and not deep enough. As nice as it was, it was all wrong, too. A bolt of jealousy flashed through him.

Lan Zhan wanted Wei Ying to wear his perfume, not this perfume, no matter how sophisticated it was.

“Safranal?” Wei Ying asked, tapping at one line in the formula.

“Saffron.” It was probably the most expensive, unexpected ingredient in his arsenal.

For all that saffron was a generally accepted ingredient in food, it was sometimes not appreciated as a scent in and of itself. It smelled a little medicinal to some people or green in an odd way, the spice of it was just a shade more unusual than people wanted to wear, but Lan Zhan loved its delicacy, loved that it was a little bit unexpected, that sometimes it could get away with not being known to be there at all while still adding depth. He liked that it brought to mind red and yellow and still smelled bright and green.

It evoked so much, a strong scent that everyone still considered fragile.

On its own, it wasn’t a perfect fit for Wei Ying, but in conjunction with the other components, he believed it was the right decision.

“Saffron is good,” Wei Ying said, smiling brightly in a vacant way. He didn’t understand the nuances of saffron as Lan Zhan understood them. In the past, he might not have explained, wouldn’t have felt an explanation was necessary, but on this day, with everything Lan Zhan knew and felt, he wanted to share his thought processes.

So he spoke. A lot. About what he felt this perfume could be, what the saffron was meant to evoke, why saffron was important to him, and when he was done, Wei Ying was looking at him, pale, drawn, eyes brimming with something that Lan Zhan didn’t understand. It wasn’t anything he hadn’t already been doing or wanting. Wei Ying knew this perfume was supposed to be for him and about him.

But. Without ever telling Wei Ying about Grasse, he’d told Wei Ying about Grasse.

Though Lan Zhan loved the scent of saffron, it wasn’t really about the saffron. “I went to France once,” he explained, figuring he might as well commit. “Grasse. After we…” After I broke up with you. It was the only thing that helped him move on, that place, the people he met, the love of perfume that visit reignited within him. “I didn’t expect to like it. A perfumer who likes Grasse? They exist everywhere. I wasn’t like them.” He stared down at his hands. “I didn’t think I was one of them. I found a farm there that grew crocus sativus for the saffron and then processed it into safranal. The time I spent there was… freeing.”

“And you… want that feeling?” Wei Ying’s voice was gentle, understanding. “In this perfume?”

Of course he did. To his mind, Wei Ying was the—

Oh.

—he was the same. They occupied the same parts of his mind and heart. Wei Ying freed him. Just like Grasse. Just like the scent of saffron.

“Wei Ying,” he said, unsure how to backtrack out of this conversation and get them back onto steadier ground. He hadn’t meant to burden Wei Ying with all of that when Wei Ying had already made his boundaries clear.

His perfumes were supposed to speak for themselves. That was always his goal. He didn’t need to vomit up his feelings for Wei Ying, too, even if they were couched in descriptions of each accord rather than in terms of the romantic notions that cluttered his thoughts.

“Lan Zhan.” His hand reached for Lan Zhan’s and then pulled back at the last moment. Lan Zhan’s fingers only managed to skim his palm.

“I know,” Lan Zhan replied, pulling the notebook toward him as though that would somehow undo the damage. “I know already. You don’t have to tell me. I’m sorry.”

“I…”

“Wei Ying, I know.” He’d already ruined his chances with Wei Ying, too long ago to do anything about now. This wasn’t an attempt to guilt Wei Ying. He rose to his feet, picked up his mug and then put it back down again, unsure what to do with it, what would be considered rude. “I shouldn’t have said any of that. You didn’t even ask me to tell you.”

He made it to the door before Wei Ying reached him, grabbing his wrist. “Lan Zhan, I want to,” he said, turning Lan Zhan around. “I want to want to. I just…”

It was just that Lan Zhan had hurt him, of course. How could he trust Lan Zhan when he’d been tossed aside when Lan Zhan was too stupid to know better? Lan Zhan had never tried to repair the damage or apologize; Wei Ying was the one who met Lan Zhan more than halfway every time since then. The least he should do was respect Wei Ying’s wishes. Softer, gentle, Lan Zhan removed Wei Ying’s hand. “I didn’t mean to pressure you. I don’t want you to feel any burdens or regrets.”

“It’s too late for regrets, Lan Zhan.”

“Then I don’t want you to have more. Take care of yourself first, Wei Ying. Don’t worry about me.”

“I’ll always worry about you, Lan Zhan,” Wei Ying said. Smiling slightly, he added, “You were always mine to worry about.”

Lan Zhan didn’t know what to say to that, so he said nothing. This time, Wei Ying didn’t stop him from leaving.

He did stall him once, though: “If you are able to finish it tomorrow or the next day, let me know. I’d like to see it.”

Lan Zhan nodded, knowing he could deny Wei Ying nothing.

It felt very strange to mix his own samples, a job he hadn’t had in years, but that he used to do when he was in training, working in Cloud Recesses as a lab tech while his uncle and brother and the other perfumers on staff did the creative work. Back then, he’d known its importance and he’d understood despite his desire to do more. Now he appreciated that experience; it was serving him well now. He wondered if his uncle would be unhappy to know it.

As he gathered the various vials and bottles before him, he frowned at the safranal. This was the last of it. If he used it and decided he wanted to manufacture the result on a greater scale, it would not be easy or cost efficient. If it was a more versatile molecule, he might be able to justify it, but with things as they were…

He had to commit. One way or the other, just: sink everything he had into this one perfume or cut it loose entirely.

Lifting the small amber vial, he determined he’d have enough to test a few variations.

It would be costly and there could be no guarantee of success. Though there could never be guarantees, this wouldn’t be commercial. It would, if he did this, be exactly what he wanted to do without making a single compromise in the process, the perfume he’d always wanted to make. With his experiences, his life, his feelings, this was a perfume only he could have made.

Fuck it, he thought, swirling the bottle between his fingers. Fuck it.

What else did he have to lose truly?

Wei Ying arrived a few minutes late, harried, two travel mugs in his hands and an apologetic expression on his face. Anyone else might not have noticed anything off, but Lan Zhan could see the guardedness in his eyes, the way he was just a little bit too apologetic. He felt guilty. It was obvious. And Lan Zhan didn’t want that at all. Not when he wasn’t at fault.

Even if he had been at fault, Lan Zhan wouldn’t have wanted it.

“Here,” he said, stepping across the threshold into Lan Zhan’s office. “For you.”

He took a tentative sip. White tea. Just like he liked it. Too good to be from the place down the street. It was the same as one of the varieties he’d offered to Lan Zhan when he came over. “Thank you.”

“So? You’re done?” Wei Ying asked, eyes alight with curiosity and interest. His gaze fell on Lan Zhan’s desk where an array of labeled vials stood, each holding very little in the way of product. It hadn’t been easy to pare each formula down to this degree and he’d felt a bit like a mad chemist by the end of it, happy to shove the lot of them aside for a week while he tried to come up with a hint of normalcy in his life again.

There wasn’t time for that. All he could do was this. There could be no going forward without Wei Ying’s approval.

“I think so,” Lan Zhan said, sitting on the edge of the desk as he gestured for Wei Ying to take the chair.

Wei Ying sat and looked up at him. Biting his lip, he then looked down into his hands, turning the mug between his palms. He said nothing.

“I’m sorry,” he said, the words falling from his mouth without his permission. “I know you probably don’t want my apology, but… I am. And thank you for everything you’ve put yourself through for this.”

Wei Ying still couldn’t look at him. “Lan Zhan…”

“I mean it,” Lan Zhan said, vehement. “I know you don’t think what you’re doing is…” There were a lot of words Lan Zhan could have used to describe it and Wei Ying would hate all of them so he said none of them. “I will appreciate it regardless.”

This time, Wei Ying didn’t argue against him. He merely accepted what Lan Zhan said, putting his things on the ground and taking the seat that was offered. Leaning close to the desk, he inspected the vials. “These are them, huh?” He took one gently between his fingers. “There’re so many.”

“I couldn’t quite decide which I liked best.” The biggest lie, he already knew which one was right, but he needed Wei Ying to feel it was right, too. “If I want to be able to afford it… I’ll have to choose now.”

“How are you going to pick?”

“I was hoping you’d help me.”

“Lan Zhan, you’re the one with the taste here, not me. I’ll…” Wei Ying’s eyes widened as Lan Zhan plucked the vial from his hands and twisted the top off, inspecting the little plastic rod. He held it up to his own nose, saffron and violet leaf and a warm mix of tuberose and amber, spicy pink pepper to cut through the sweetness, and then held it out for Wei Ying to smell. “Oh.” He blinked and looked at Lan Zhan. “It’s lovely.”

That was gratifying to hear. Taking hold of Wei Ying’s hand, turning it, he pressed the rod to the soft stretch of skin on the inside of his wrist. A lot of times, he tested on himself in addition to blotting papers, but he wanted Wei Ying to be the first for this.

He bent forward and pulled Wei Ying’s wrist up, so close that a few centimeters would allow him to press a kiss to Wei Ying’s palm. Though the effort was monumental, he refrained, focusing instead on how the perfume interacted with Wei Ying’s skin.

It was exciting, intoxicating, every bit as sexy as Lan Zhan could have hoped for it to be. It was warm in the same way Wei Ying, to Lan Zhan, was warm, as sweet, as mischievous and piquant. It didn’t know quite what it wanted to be and that was perfect, too.

“Lan Zhan?” Wei Ying’s voice was quiet, careful. His pulse jumped under Lan Zhan’s thumb.

“Sorry.” He let go of Wei Ying’s wrist as though it was the element on a stove, already burning to the touch. As Wei Ying kept watching him, he brought his wrist up to his own nose and inhaled deeply.

“Oh,” he said again. “Lan Zhan. This is only one of them?”

“Mn.” He’d already spilled his secrets once, to ill effect. He wouldn’t do so again now. He wouldn’t influence Wei Ying. He replaced the lid, held the vial out to Wei Ying.

“Okay,” Wei Ying said, a little shaky. He didn’t take the vial and Lan Zhan couldn’t quite bring himself to put it down. Curling his ring and pinky around it, he held it awkwardly against his palm as he picked up the second vial, held the rod up for Wei Ying to sniff, gauged closely his reaction, muted, curious, but little more.

“Okay, so what’s different about this one?”

“Ginger,” Lan Zhan answered. “I wasn’t sure if the pepper would be…”

He hadn’t been sure it would be enough.

But what did he need to explain for, when Wei Ying was already nodding in understanding? “Ginger is nice.” He held out his other wrist to Lan Zhan. Perhaps he wasn’t doing it on purpose, but it was… this wasn’t safe, what they were doing, and Lan Zhan should have pulled back.

He took Wei Ying’s hand anyway, gentle, careful, applied the scent. It was immediately obvious that this wasn’t right at all. The ginger came on far too strong, would burn away too quickly. It didn’t play nicely with the safranal at all and both tipped sideways for the sandalwood almost immediately, all of it too warm now, where the dryness of the pepper helped balance the scent instead. Frowning, Wei Ying sniffed again and shook his head.

The next, Lan Zhan applied to Wei Ying’s elbow. Also a no, though lovely, too, the cardamom at least a little bit better than the ginger had been.

“What’s funny?” Wei Ying asked, startling Lan Zhan from his musings. “You’re smiling.”

“I… am I?”

Wei Ying nodded, a small, pleased little thing playing at the corner of his mouth, too.

“Oh.” He fought the flush that climbed the back of his neck. “I was just thinking…”

“You were thinking?”

“It feels right that it should come down to spice, does it not?”

Wei Ying’s brows furrowed, mouth forming a small moue, before he burst out laughing. “Hey, not all of us can have such refined, subtle palates as you! Some of us have to get by on the experience.”

“‘More spice’ isn’t an experience,” Lan Zhan replied, allowing himself to forget what they were doing. So close to the end of this agreement between them, he felt it was okay for him to slide a bit. It was better than allowing himself to think about how close Wei Ying was now. How much worse could he make it by indulging in their past just a little bit?

“It is, Lan Zhan,” Wei Ying insisted, leaning in, “and a good one at that.”

Clearing his throat, Lan Zhan turned away, swiped up the last vial. Though he reached for Wei Ying’s opposite elbow, Wei Ying pulled it out of the way, tilted his head instead to expose his neck.

“Who applies perfume to their elbows, Lan Zhan?” With Lan Zhan sitting like this and Wei Ying sitting like that, Lan Zhan could almost see the flutter of his pulse in his neck, or imagined that he could. There was a plea in Wei Ying’s eye, a plea that Lan Zhan couldn’t ignore even knowing he’d get burned on it.

His fingers brushed lightly over the soft stretch of skin there.

Wei Ying’s heartbeat was incessant, quick, undeniable.

“A lot of people,” Lan Zhan said, nervous, throat dry. “The difference is minimal in this case. You’re wearing short sleeves.”

But Lan Zhan was weak and he didn’t know what Wei Ying was thinking and he was too afraid to ask, feared spoiling whatever intimacy Wei Ying was choosing to allow the question to cross his lips. Even knowing—even knowing he shouldn’t.

The wand swiped over Wei Ying’s neck. This one was beautiful, but wrong, too. He’d gone too decadent, adding neroli and osmanthus. It was too floral, too delicate.

For another person, it might well be stunning.

Wei Ying inhaled and then said, “Take them off. Put the first one back on.”

Bad idea. Bad, bad idea.

Retreating to the bathroom to retrieve a damp paper towel along with a stack of dry ones didn’t make Lan Zhan see reason no matter how many times he repeated this fact to himself. Nor did the splash of cold water across the face. He would have done anything Wei Ying asked. Whatever was happening between them, Lan Zhan didn’t have the strength to stop it.

He was in Wei Ying’s hands.

When he returned, he caught Wei Ying with one wrist lifted to his nose, eyes closed as he drew in a breath. “Wei Ying,” he said, quiet so as not to disturb him. Wei Ying startled slightly anyway.

He held out the damp paper towel for Wei Ying to take and then swiped it back again after he thought about it, quick enough that Wei Ying had only half raised his hand to take it. Wei Ying had asked him to take it off. Lan Zhan… Lan Zhan could do that. Even if he felt like he risked getting consumed by the fire within his heart, he could do it.

Taking hold of Wei Ying’s arm, he gently swiped the paper towel over Wei Ying’s wrist, careful, slow, in case he wouldn’t have another chance at this sort of intimacy again. Wei Ying’s gaze weighed heavily on him, but he couldn’t lift his eyes to meet it, fearful of what he would see or maybe embarrassed that Wei Ying would see everything. Better to focus on the smooth, soft stretches of skin before him, far easier than to look into the mutable brown of Wei Ying’s eyes.

He very carefully did the same to the inside of Wei Ying’s elbow, cupping the sharp jut of it in his palm—unnecessary, but there was an excuse at the ready all the same in case Wei Ying said anything, he obviously needed to keep himself steady—and then stalled as he considered Wei Ying’s neck, still gleaming slightly, the scent of the last sample overwhelming.

He paused, midway to touching Wei Ying’s neck, uncertain.

“Lan Zhan,” Wei Ying said, slow and melodic, unlike how he normally said Lan Zhan’s name, short and sweet and teasing.

He scrubbed quickly at Wei Ying’s neck until nothing remained except that first scent and then he reached for the vial again. Instead of swiping the wand over Wei Ying’s pulse point, he pressed it to his own thumb, applied it that way instead, felt the steady, fast-beating thrum of Wei Ying’s heart beneath it as Wei Ying drew in another deep breath, leaned into the touch, did not pull away or push the way he’d done before.

The moment stretched and twined and pulled them closer together.

Wei Ying’s eyes fluttered closed. His lips, pink and plump, parted. “Can we pretend for a little while?”

Lan Zhan’s tongue stuck to the roof of his mouth, clumsy when he tried to answer. “Pretend what?”

“That I never had to leave. I’m tired of having had to go.”

“You’re leaving tomorrow, aren’t you?” It was his first time truly acknowledging this fact and he hated it, loathed it in its entirety.

“Yes. No. Well, the flight is late, almost midnight, so… technically yes.”

So few hours remained to them. Acidic guilt burned in the back of his throat. He’d hurt this man so deeply and still he came here, still he asked for this, as though Lan Zhan wouldn’t give everything to him. There was no redemption to be had in Wei Ying’s request, but he’d be damned if he denied him, even if he was sure he’d come out of this the worse for it, knowing it could be nothing more, that Wei Ying was…

“Whatever you want,” Lan Zhan said finally. Even though he’d never rid himself of his feelings for Wei Ying if they did this again, he would gladly trade his future for this moment.

And then Wei Ying tipped his head up slightly, found Lan Zhan’s mouth unerringly. The vial, still open, fell from Lan Zhan’s hands, spilled across the floor. The glass tinked lightly and rolled away. The air smelled only of Lan Zhan’s conception of Wei Ying, that pink pepper spice, the honeyed cream of the amber and tuberose, the strange yellow-green of the saffron and violet leaf, sandalwood creeping out from behind it all.

It didn’t matter. He’d known that was the one. There was one more small bottle. Meant for Wei Ying. If he would wear it. It was okay to lose this one. A very small price to pay.

The kiss was indescribable, bold and shy in turns, like Wei Ying wanted this more than he wanted anything else, but he didn’t know what he could have until he’d tested the boundaries of it and discovered they were nonexistent. There was no part of Lan Zhan that he wouldn’t open to Wei Ying now.

His hands found Lan Zhan’s, clasped hard to them as he stood and placed himself between the bracket of Lan Zhan’s knees, still a perfect fit.

Wei Ying guided Lan Zhan’s hands to his waist, left them there as he brought his own up to cup Lan Zhan’s neck, fingers scratching at the back of his head, tugging at the strands of hair that pulled free of Lan Zhan’s hairband.

“Lan Zhan,” he said, voice small, pained, the words kissed into the skin at the corner of Lan Zhan’s mouth. “You’re so… I wish we could…”

Lan Zhan did, too. Whatever Wei Ying wished for, Lan Zhan wanted it also.

“Lan Zhan,” he tried again, pressing himself closer until he felt Wei Ying’s hardness against his own. His hips rolled against Lan Zhan’s, seemingly of their own accord. His hands still held tight to the back of Lan Zhan’s head. His moan was small, cracked. “Lan Zhan, just for today, choose me. Can we pretend that’s an option?”

Lan Zhan’s hands tightened against Wei Ying’s sides, thumbs digging in deeply enough that he might leave bruises.

There was never a choice, Lan Zhan thought, though it wasn’t true. It was a romantic notion, perhaps, and one that Lan Zhan wished was true, but they both knew the reality of it, no matter how much Wei Ying wanted to try erasing it now, no matter how much Lan Zhan would have liked the same.

Lan Zhan already made the choice that defined them.

And now he was taking too long to answer and Wei Ying started to quietly disentangle himself, hands lingering until—

Lan Zhan nodded, uncoordinated, as he slipped his fumbling, shaking hand into his pocket and withdrew the bottle that proved he still knew Wei Ying. He kissed Wei Ying again, drew him close, placed the bottle within the safe cup of his palm and curled his fingers around it. Even if nothing could come of this perfume in the end, Lan Zhan’s luck and resources running out on him, Lan Zhan needed what little did exist to find its way home.

“Wei Ying, yes.” This was the worst idea either of them could have and Lan Zhan could see all the ways it would go wrong and still he was going to choose it. It would redeem nothing. They will be no better off at the end of it. It’s going to hurt like hell. “Whatever you want.”

“Take me back to your apartment, Lan Zhan.”

Then

Lan Zhan pressed his finger to the mark on his neck, pain blooming under the pressure, but even so, he couldn’t bite back his smile. Happiness like champagne bubbles burst within him, threatened to overwhelm him. His phone buzzed in his pocket again and again as he walked into Cloud Recesses and he knew it was Wei Ying offering him well-wishes for the day or waxing rhapsodic about last night or maybe, if Lan Zhan was lucky, sending pictures of the marks on his own body, a catalog of what they’d done to one another the night before.

No matter how much time they spent together, the shine never tarnished. They might be newly dating for how excited he still was to have been sent off to Cloud Recesses, Wei Ying still warm and sated in his bed.

A few strange looks were thrown his way as he walked toward the labs, but he was in too good a mood to care. He adjusted the collar of his shirt, the one Wei Ying had picked out for him earlier, fussing with it until he was satisfied. “Your uncle shouldn’t be offended,” he’d teased. “Sorry about the hickey. I’m not sure why I wasn’t more careful.”

Lan Zhan’s fingers had skimmed over the mark then, too. “I like it.”

Wei Ying had laughed, ducked his head, shy and pleased. “You like everything we do.”

“I do.”

Wei Ying had smiled into the deep, lingering kiss Lan Zhan bestowed upon him and then he’d checked his phone and then he’d hissed. “Shit, Lan Zhan, you’re going to be late.”

“I’ll see you tonight?” he asked, ignoring Wei Ying’s concerns. He was never late. He could be late once.

“Of course! You can’t get rid of me that easily!”

Lan Zhan absolutely didn’t want to.

Wei Ying was right: he was late, but it was the first time it had happened in his twenty years of life, so he figured it was fine as long as it didn’t become a habit. Once he was more prepared for the whirlwind Wei Ying had made of him, he’d relearn balance. It was what his brother and uncle had taught him.

One slip… it was natural. When everything was so new, of course it was natural. He would work late to make up for the lapse if necessary.

He was pleased as he sat down at his desk, refreshed, eager to work. Wei Ying’s energy, his verve, his joy… it was all infectious. He had so many ideas.

“Lan Zhan!” rang out from the doorway, drawing the attention of the other lab techs, who immediately lowered their eyes to their workstations and whispered among themselves. It was his uncle standing in the door. Lan Qiren never came down here, assured that his team knew how to handle themselves. For how exacting he was, he was trusting in equal measure to those who earned it.

Lan Zhan of course followed him out of the labs, only stopping long enough to hang his lab coat on the hook just outside. “Uncle?”

“My office,” was all his uncle offered. His steps, though quick, were measured. Lan Zhan, long grown, kept up easily.

“Uncle, what is this about?”

“As though you don’t know already.” Though his voice was even, Lan Zhan heard the undercurrent of disappointment and severity. He turned to look at Lan Zhan, eyes falling to his throat.

Too late, Lan Zhan realized his lab coat must have pulled his collar loose. He rearranged it to better cover his skin. Though he knew in his heart he’d done nothing wrong, a blush of shame climbed his throat. Nothing about the things Wei Ying and he did were wrong. That he would even feel such a thing for a single moment felt like a betrayal to himself. “Uncle, please.”

“We’re not doing this in the hallways,” his uncle said, though there was no reason they couldn’t: the halls were empty now. “I won’t stoop to that.”

Lan Zhan kept a tight hold on the complaint that threatened to fall from his mouth. His uncle wasn’t like this. There had to be an explanation for it, one that didn’t involve…

Surely his uncle would forgive his lateness today. As long as he assured him it wouldn’t happen again…

But a coldness settled in his chest. That was not his uncle’s way.

As soon as the door to Lan Qiren’s office closed, Lan Zhan took a seat. Unlike his own tastes, very minimal, Lan Qiren’s office felt more full, lively, warm. Though there were many more items and artifacts, it never felt cluttered, but all the same, Lan Zhan preferred his own surroundings. “Uncle…”

“Lan Zhan,” he said, sharp, rounding his own desk. Unlike most of the rest of the staff of Cloud Recesses, he didn’t use a laptop at all and preferred to work only on paper. “This can’t continue. Whatever infatuation you’re experiencing—”

Infatuation. As though that could explain Wei Ying. “It’s not like that.”

Lan Qiren’s gaze fell to his neck again. Though his collar was correct, Lan Zhan still felt exposed. “You’re young and don’t know any better. Of course it’s like that.” He laced his fingers together, dared to look at Lan Zhan with pity, as though his time with Wei Ying hasn’t been a gift. “You are the best pupil I ever had. You could be the most incredible perfumer in an entire generation, maybe even across generations.” And then, as though his fingers couldn’t stand it, they reached into one of the drawers of his desk and pulled out a stack of papers. “And now you’re this.”

Lan Qiren nearly tossed them across the desk, forcing Lan Zhan to scurry forward to retrieve them before they scattered.

As Lan Zhan rifled through them, the coldness in his stomach grew and grew, crept through his veins to pulse even as far as his fingertips. Recent test scores, evaluations of the formulas he’d been tasked with recreating, even the work he did for the established artists in Cloud Recesses.

The difference in terms of numbers was miniscule, a percentage point here or there. It shouldn’t have felt like a threat.

But taken together…

“Do you know how many people your age would fight for a chance that’s been handed to you? Until now, you’ve never taken that fact for granted. All of a sudden, you’re seeing someone and this is the result.”

“I…”

“You’re more than this. These scores would be fine for anyone else. They’re nothing for you when I already know what you’re truly capable of. This is your passion. I know it is. I have seen you when you work, but you have to take it seriously. There will be time later for romance if that is what you wish.”

Not like this, he insisted, the argument locked in the cage of his heart. His uncle wasn’t wrong; he’d been given a gift here. In the past, he’d been aware of it, always keeping it in mind, always striving so that nobody could misconstrue that he’d worked diligently for his place here. He worked harder than everyone else, sought more. Nobody could begrudge him the advantages he had, because he allowed his life to be nothing more nor less than this. He would have made it to this place even without his name and his upbringing. That was what he showed others.

He had been lax in his appreciation of it, but even so…

Not with him. Wei Ying was his intended, now and in the future. What his uncle was asking… how could he give it?

“You weren’t ill, were you?” Lan Qiren asked. “You lied to me and you got your brother to lie for you and for what?”

For Wei Ying. But that was a mistruth, wasn’t it? It had been for himself. And here he wanted to selfishly blame it on Wei Ying. That wasn’t what a person should do, right?

“Perhaps you had fun,” Lan Qiren went on, “and perhaps you’ll always treasure the memory, but how can it not be tainted when you did wrong and you dragged someone else into your wrongdoing? Is this how you were raised to be?”

Lan Zhan swallowed around the lump in his throat. Shame flooded him again and this time, he couldn’t wave it away with a brazen thought. All he could do was look down at the cold, hard truth of what was happening to him, the mathematical consequences of his actions. He couldn’t regret Wei Ying; he didn’t have the heart for that. But he could… there was truth in what his uncle said.

What further wrongs would he commit because his love for Wei Ying tipped the scales of his devotion to his work?

He’d been selfish and he was wasting his opportunity here. One or two percentage points did matter. He wanted to be the best. He’d trained his whole life to be the best.

“Uncle…”

“Tell me you’ll do better,” Lan Qiren said. “I want you back to where you were before. I want you to exceed what you’ve done in the past, not become less than it. Do you not want the same? You were always so diligent before.”

The papers rattled in his hand and he finally had to place them on his lap to keep from giving too much of himself away. Smoothing them down, he considered. His uncle gave him that space.

“Do you think a person such as the one you’ve met will want to be with you forever?”

This cynicism, it wasn’t what he expected from his uncle at a time like this. Or ever, in truth, given what they talked about. Even about Lan Zhan’s father, he wasn’t so brusque on those few occasions when his name was brought up. The question his uncle posed pinned him to a board, left him to struggle fruitlessly against the sharpness of it.

He knew, the way he knew he loved perfume and his brother and rabbits, that he would want that with all his heart, clamored for just that.

He would want Wei Ying to be with him always.

He also knew, despite his inexperience in this arena, that most people his age didn’t necessarily feel the same. It wasn’t a bad thing, though he didn’t understand it and accepted that he might never understand it. But Wei Ying was more attuned to the world outside of himself. He probably understood that relationships built and crumbled into nothing. Maybe he even expected it here, too.

He did not have an uncle breathing down his neck to tell him he was wasting his birthright, here to remind him that what he had was a privilege and everything else was a distraction.

They’d only been together for a few months, the happiest months of Lan Zhan’s life, but Wei Ying was a happy person, so cheerful and bright, surely those months for him were… were much the same as the months that came before and the months that would come after.

Perhaps sensing an advantage, his uncle continued, “And even if you both did want that now, will he truly be able to accept the level of dedication you’re expected to expend here?”

To this question, Lan Zhan had no answer at all.

This was the question that damned him.

Because his uncle wasn’t wrong. He worked hard, long hours. His head was full of formulae, the names of molecules, their scent, the experience of them, the interaction they shared with other molecules. To him, it was the universe in miniature, but to anyone else, how could it be anything other than boring?

Even Wei Ying would get bored. He would have every right to resent Lan Zhan for not dropping everything to go to the beach at his every whim. He deserved not to be chained down to someone like Lan Zhan.

That was what finally did it. As long as he felt like it was for Wei Ying’s benefit, he could do what was right.

“I understand,” he said, toneless, and his uncle heard what he wanted to hear, exactly what Lan Zhan intended for him to hear: you’ve gotten your way and congratulations. But as he stood up, hands still shaking, heart in tatters within his chest, he flung the pages back. The paperclip holding them together clattered across the desk and the individual pages fluttered every which way. “This is the last time I’ll allow this.”

He wouldn’t be sure for another ten years or so what he even meant, but a part of him knew now that his uncle would, going forward, have far less control over Lan Zhan than he might have hoped for.

Now

When Lan Zhan awoke, the other half of his bed was already cold. He wasn’t surprised to find it so and had no right to feel aggrieved, but pain lanced his heart anyway. They shouldn’t have done this. It hadn’t been—

Wei Ying had been as beautiful as always, as giving, and that was a gift and a curse all at once, because it brought everything flooding back, all the feelings he’d had such a hard time fighting this whole time. It felt fresh and new, like the first blush of love all over except bruised, because Lan Zhan knew…

Oh, he’d fucked up. All this time, he’d…

His ambition was nothing compared to what he and Wei Ying shared. The world he’d thought he needed more than Wei Ying, it was ash and smoke, nothing to him compared to the time they spent together. Who wanted to be the best among those climbing a pile of rubble?

He pushed himself upright, squinted as he turned on the lamp on his bedside table, took in the note that Wei Ying had scribbled on the pad of paper Lan Zhan kept by this bed for late night ideas.

I’m sorry. Thank you.

The thought of not seeing Wei Ying again—it was too much for him to handle; it settled like a band around his rib cage and cinched itself tight.

Wei Ying had been right when he’d first put boundaries up between them.

It was Lan Zhan who’d failed once again, letting his own emotions and desires get in the way. He’d hurt Wei Ying and perhaps had done even worse for giving in.

This time, Lan Zhan couldn’t even cling to the belief that it had been or would be worth it. Nothing was worth having done this to Wei Ying and to himself when he couldn’t even—he hadn’t even been given the chance to fix it or tell Wei Ying what he’d learned or…

Wei Ying would be gone now, out of his life. There was little else that could be done.

Then

“Lan Zhan, you’re sure you’re okay?” Wei Ying asked, plastered to Lan Zhan’s side as they navigated the entry gate to Wangshiyuan. Lanterns and lights flickered along each and every pavilion, familiar to Lan Zhan, who’d visited this garden many times throughout his life. But Wei Ying was still sort of new to Suzhou and complained that he didn’t get to see many of the things that wouldn’t necessarily have interested a local who could come at any time.

“I’m fine.”

“You barely ate at dinner and I know you were bored at the bar,” Wei Ying pointed out, allowing himself to be led in regardless. His words, though concerned, carried no wariness, no worry for what was to come. “Are you feeling ill? If you’d rather do this another time, we can…” Stepping inside, Wei Ying heard the first of many performances, musical, theatrical, and dance, he’d be seeing tonight as they wandered through each pavilion. This one sounded like a Pingtan performance. “Oh, this is very pretty.”

“Mn,” Lan Zhan agreed. It was quite beautiful here. He sometimes forgot in the midst of his course of study.

“You know, I didn’t believe mom when she said I’d like Suzhou,” Wei Ying said as they wandered. His voice was low and humble, filled with wonder. “I thought it would be stodgy and classy and far too boring for the likes of me.”

Lan Zhan was suddenly glad he’d been unable to eat dinner with the way his stomach threatened to rebel anyway. “And now?”

Wei Ying looked at him. “I’ve learned to value its charms. Pretty people, pretty dialect, pretty music, pretty streets. You fit in well here.”

Lan Zhan flushed at the compliment and had to look away when Wei Ying smiled so brightly at him and tightened the hold he had on Lan Zhan’s arm. His chatter washed over Lan Zhan, hardly registering even while Lan Zhan wanted nothing more than to memorize this moment, this last moment before he’d ruin all of it.

Maybe his uncle was wrong, because how could wanting this be wrong? Wouldn’t… wouldn’t it be worth it to give up one piece of his future to this? He’d always imagined himself being at the top of this industry, so focused and diligent that no one else could catch up to him. In his imaginings, he saw that he was content, happy even, just knowing his creations were the best in the world by whatever metric he wished to measure it: innovativeness, elegance, popularity.

Would it be so bad to merely be a good perfumer? Did he have to be the best? Could he not carve a life for himself where there was more to be had?

He knew in his heart that that was something he could never be. His drive, his passion… at this stage in his life, he couldn’t always put Wei Ying first.

Wei Ying deserved to be put first always.

“Wei Ying—” Let’s go home, he thought. Let’s stay together. I’ll forget all about this.

“Yes?” The lanterns’ light flickered warmly in Wei Ying’s eyes, giving them a dancing, anticipatory cast.

They approached another pavilion inside of which a small dance troupe was performing, their bare feet thudding lightly and gracefully over the wood-paneled floors. Lan Zhan lost his nerve. “Let’s go inside.”

To say he was disappointed in himself was an understatement and as they continued on, Wei Ying more and more excitable, Lan Zhan realized that this was a cruelty wrapped in the trappings of a kindness.

It should have been cleaner than this. It had been unfair to even consider…

But he’d wanted to leave himself and Wei Ying with good memories. As much as he could, he’d wanted to soften the blow. But seeing Wei Ying so happy…

“Wei Ying, wait,” he said, grabbing him by the wrist and tugging him away from the pavilion’s entrance. In his haste, he nearly bumped into another couple and mumbled in apology, barely able to speak now.

“Lan Zhan,” Wei Ying replied, laughing lightly, murmuring apologies of his own and bowing his head slightly to them, barely able to conceal his pleased smile. “What’s gotten into you?”

He wished suddenly, viciously as a child might, that he’d never met Wei Ying at all if this was how he would feel at the end of it. Would it not have been better to avoid this entirely?

“I… there’s something I need to tell you,” he said around the thickness in the back of his throat.

Puzzled, Wei Ying tilted his head and offered an even bigger smile to Lan Zhan than he’d offered to the other couple, sweet and charmed. “Of course.” His gaze searched keenly across the pavilions, the garden, the water, and found a mostly isolated spot a little further away. “Let’s go over there, huh? There’s something I’d like to tell you, too.” Through lowered lashes, he added, “Perhaps you’ll be kind enough to allow me to tell you first?”

It didn’t seem like a good idea, but Lan Zhan, even knowing, couldn’t deny him.

With that, Lan Zhan was dragged across the wooden path to that secluded little spot, shaded by a low-dipping willow. It was so perfectly romantic that fear seized up in him to be there with Wei Ying.

Wei Ying took both of Lan Zhan’s hands in his, chafing them lightly, skimming his thumb over his knuckles. “Lan Zhan, thank you for bringing me here. It’s beautiful and—and you’re the best. I know I’m annoying and overbearing sometimes. I push the people I like and I—really like you. A lot. More than I’ve liked anyone else in my life.” He lowered his head slightly and brought Lan Zhan’s hands up to his mouth.

Lan Zhan thought Wei Ying intended to kiss them, but he wasn’t prepared for the reality, the words that Wei Ying breathed into his skin. “I think I lo—no, I know I love you. Lan Zhan, I love you. I’ve never… my mom also told me that I might feel like this one day. I wasn’t so sure of that either and she’s told me that would be okay, too, but if I did… she told me I should always be honest about it if it happened.” His eyes shone brighter than the lanterns with his happiness and Lan Zhan… Lan Zhan couldn’t fathom being the cause of it. “Lan Zhan, you’re amazing. You’re wonderful. I want—”

“Wei Ying, I can’t do this,” he blurted.

“Lan Zhan?”

So carefully, as though Wei Ying was made out of porcelain, strong enough at first glance, but quick to shatter when handled poorly, he extricated himself from Wei Ying’s touch. “I care about you, too, but…”

“But?” Wei Ying’s voice was so weak, devoid of emotion suddenly. Lan Zhan had caused that. He bit his lip to hide the tremble and drew in a shaky breath, trying to smile and failing miserably at it.

Lan Zhan had never before been able to read one person so clearly. He wished he didn’t have this ability now. “But right now isn’t the right time for this. I have to focus on my work. I’m…”

“Ah.” This time, he was able to make his smile appear a little more genuine. “I’m a distraction.”

Lan Zhan’s hands, entirely of their own accord, bracketed Wei Ying’s cheeks. His thumb skimmed the curved line of that beautiful smile while he committed its softness to memory. “You’re not. It’s—I’m the one at fault here. You’ve done—Wei Ying, you’re the one who was wonderful. I just can’t—”

“Ah, Lan Zhan.” He covered Lan Zhan’s hands with his own, squeezed slightly. His palms were so warm and dry, comforting and comfortable. “You’re nice even when you’re breaking up with someone. How is that possible?”

How could Wei Ying think this was nice? Lan Zhan felt absolutely terrible, the worst sort of person, stringing Wei Ying along like this, bringing him out on a date like this just to—to let him down. “Wei Ying, please.”

“Lan Zhan, it’s okay. Thank you for… for all of this. And for being kind and for telling me the truth.” He pried Lan Zhan’s hands from his cheeks and squeezed once in farewell.

“Wei Ying, it really wasn’t you.”

A corner of Wei Ying’s mouth curled up. “You know,” he said in droll wonder. “If anyone else had said that, I wouldn’t believe them, but with you—” He huffed in self-deprecating humor. “Don’t worry, Lan Zhan. We had a good time and we were sincere to one another and that’s what matters. I hope—I hope you find what you need out there.”

“What about you?”

“What about me?” he asked, stepping backward, pulling away. “I’m sure I’ll be okay.”

He wanted more than anything in that moment to take it all back, to tell his uncle to go to hell, but he still wanted—

He did want to be the best and to do so, he had to focus entirely on that.

“Wei Ying, please be happy,” he said, but too late. Wei Ying was already walking away and Lan Zhan couldn’t speak loudly enough for him to hear from so far away. If Wei Ying could find happiness without being held back by Lan Zhan’s ambitions, he thought it could be worth it.

Now

Though Lan Zhan should have been finishing up securing agreements with his usual suppliers for the quantity of ingredients he’d need for his initial run, he found himself lingering in the lab. After waking up alone, knowing he’d made a mistake, knowing there was no time to rectify it, he couldn’t face the actual end of this agreement between himself and Wei Ying. At this stage, there would be little else to occupy himself with besides the tedious minutiae of logistics.

As it turned out, he wasn’t quite ready to let go.

At least when he was younger, he was more decisive.

Fiddling with inventory to avoid his problems, that was stooping pretty low even though it was the only thing he felt he could do in that moment, mind too occupied. He might at least have readied the store to open, but even that he avoided. There was still time. It was early yet.

As he worked, he, too, found himself annoyed at the scent of bread filtering over from the bakery next door. At this time of day, between rushes, he normally he couldn’t discern it unless one of their new hires managed to burn whatever they were working on.

It was less than ideal for a perfumer, but not so obnoxious that he felt it necessary to complain or find another property to lease. Only today, the sharp, pungent scent of melting plastic followed. Intending to double check on them, he stood. Though it had never been a problem before, he still felt the need to find out for sure.

As though sensing his unhappiness and wishing to compound it, the lights flickered and died, too.

Scoffing impatiently, he pulled out his phone, using the light to pick his way toward the entryway. He tried the light switch just in case. Nothing. Making his way to the circuit breaker in his office, he did his best there, too. Nothing.

If his power had been shut off again…

He swiped up his notebook from his desk, fuming, wandering toward the back so he could go outside and actually see what he was doing. His mind worked ahead of him through the possibilities. If it wasn’t the electricity company, then there was something wrong with the wiring maybe. Perhaps he would get lucky and it was entirely an issue with the bakery’s wiring. Perhaps it wasn’t an issue with the wiring at all and the bakery had only overloaded their breakers. It wouldn’t be the first time another business has managed to blow the power for the whole building.

Breathing deeply, he put these worries from his mind. Whatever it was was what it would be and he’d deal with it accordingly. Worrying ahead of time was pointless. Careful to keep the door propped open—he didn’t want to get locked out again—he dialed and waited. His attention drifted around the alley. At first, nothing seemed amiss.

Others began spilling out the back to complain about the power and then an alarm shrieked from—for a moment, his heart flipping in his chest, he thought it sounded like it came from his own space, but no, it was—

It was from the bakery next door.

The bakery that abutted his lab.

The lab where he was busy doing inventory.

Inventory that wasn’t appropriately locked away into the fire-resistant boxes he kept them in when he wasn’t working with them.

Sighing, he scrubbed his hands over his face.

Now that he knew what was happening, he searched for signs of a fire. None of the staff had evacuated yet, though the team was small, particularly this early in the day. Nothing in the back gave any indication that anything was wrong. Even the other tenants further down didn’t know what it might be.

It was only when Lan Zhan tilted his head back and looked toward the roof that he could see dark curls of smoke coming from the front of the building. A worker from one of the other businesses wandered over, asked a question that Lan Zhan didn’t hear. His heart was too busy lodging itself in his throat, mind scattered until he focused it back down to the problem at hand.

“Call emergency services,” Lan Zhan told the young woman. It didn’t matter if anyone else already had. Just in case.

“What are you doing?” she asked. “You shouldn’t go back in.”

Maybe not, but there were a lot of very flammable materials just sitting on the table in that room. If he was quick, it wouldn’t be a problem. The longer he delayed, the harder it would be and who knew how quickly it would take for emergency services to arrive.

Covering his face as best he could, he lifted his phone and went back in. It was already hazy with smoke even in the halls and a little warmer. His eyes watered and he couldn’t help coughing even with his mouth covered by his elbow. Though it didn’t seem too bad yet—too bad, he thought, as though the entire building wasn’t at risk—he was still surprised by how quickly the smoke thickened. He was already sweating and could barely see even with the flare of light from his phone.

He had to do this quickly. And he couldn’t—he absolutely could not think about the possibility that he’d lose Gentian House in this way. Even with the insurance he’d taken out on it, he wouldn’t—

There was nothing he could do about that now. All he could do was try his best to not cause any worse damage.

The smoke was thicker in the lab and the heat was even worse. At least some of the oils had to be past their flashpoint by now. Stumbling a bit over his feet, he reached the table where the vast majority of the bottles remained. He swept as many of them as he could into the first of the boxes and then did the same with the second. His notebook fell from his hands. When he bent to pick it up, nausea whirled within him, and it fell again.

As he made his way back outside, gasping, chest tight, throat seared and eyes half-blinded by the feeling of grit as he blinked away tears, he was glad at least that he hadn’t yet thought to bring out the stock of perfumes.

Assuming that would do any good, of course. A large enough fire wouldn’t be stopped by mere boxes.

Even fate didn’t want him to have this.

“Sir,” someone called, a paramedic maybe. She jogged over. “Sir, were you—you need to seek treatment if you were caught—okay, let’s get you to one of the ambulances, all right?”

All he could do was laugh and even that twisted itself into a vicious, racking cough in the end.

“Sweet, dear, beautiful, wonderful, gorgeous, blessed child of mine.”

“Ma!” Wei Ying called, scrambling upright from his awkward slump. It wouldn’t be good for her to see him, well… moping, especially when he should have been packing. Turning toward her, he took in the healthy glow of her skin, the sweet, contented smile on her mouth. She was wearing a long, soft duster she must have gotten on her travels.

She ruffled his hair as she stepped into the kitchen area to retrieve some of the hastily fried rice he’d put together. Though he was hunched over the stool and miserable, he couldn’t help but smile a little. Not least of all when the sting arrived: “You look like shit.”

“Thank you, ma!” He took an exaggerated bite of food and gestured for her to do the same. After he swallowed, he favored her with a smile. “You always know how to kick a man when he’s down.”

“How else do you think I ensnared your father? My good looks and wit? Please, I beat him senseless.”

“You are pretty good looking,” Wei Ying said, thoughtful. “Your sense of humor however…” He seesawed his hand back and forth. “Eh. Your sucker punches are immaculate. Land one-hundred percent of the time. KO. Ouch.”

She came around and plopped down on the stool next to Wei Ying’s, nudged him with her elbow.

“When did you get back anyway?”

“Yesterday afternoon,” she replied. “You weren’t home.”

“If you would have told me you were flying back in, I could have been.” It might even have been for the best.. Stupid. He’d been so fucking stupid and weak and—

And he didn’t love Lan Zhan any less now than he did yesterday, but it felt different, like exposing his vulnerabilities made the rest of him less than. He’d been so careful to keep the boundaries up, keep things friendly. But he’d…

He’d let the romance of it all seep into his muscles, wrap itself around his bones. The faint scent of saffron clung to him, the very last remnants of Lan Zhan’s perfume. Even after showering and scrubbing the evidence of his failure from his skin, it remained. And yet, he couldn’t bear to part from the bottle Lan Zhan had given him. It sat in his pocket even now. He could wrap his hand around it if he wanted to, a talisman to mark their joint bad decision.

Or maybe he was the only one who could still smell it. At least he didn’t smell like his last mistake. His mother definitely wouldn’t have held back on commenting on that. And then he’d have to…

Oh, hell. He was going to admit it anyway. He never could lie to her.

“A-Ying?” Heavens, she only ever called him that when she was trying to be serious. Did he look that bad?

Yes, the traitorous back of his mind retorted. He did look that bad.

He felt even worse, knowing he’d pulled a dumb shit move and now he’d have to deal with the fallout. Fucking off in the middle of the night wasn’t his style and Lan Zhan deserved better than that. He’d at the very least left a note, but fuck, what good was that?

“I’m an idiot,” he mumbled into his glass of water, water because he didn’t dare start drinking anything harder. “Mom, I fucked up.”

“It’s not the first time,” she said agreeably, “and it won’t be the last. You’ll get through it.”

“Gee, thanks.”

“Hey. You could talk about it if you really want to,” she offered, which… yeah, that sounded like the worst idea ever, but he could also feel it sticking in his throat, his fears and shame. It would do him no good to keep it all inside and his mom was the best with this sort of stuff. There was nothing he could do that she hadn’t done first and worse, she liked to joke.

Sometimes, she even had good advice.

“You remember Lan Zhan, right?” Which. What a dumb question to ask. Of course she knew Lan Zhan. He couldn’t stop himself from talking about him back in the day. He’d never talked about anyone else.

And after… after they broke up? Yeah, she remembered. If only he’d managed to be in private the way he’d been with Lan Zhan that night. In private, it got messy for a while. And then periodically ever since as Jiang Cheng liked to remind him.

Her hand brushed back the hair that had fallen into his eyes, tucked the strands behind his ears.

“He was a very handsome and conscientious boy as I recall,” she replied.

Wei Ying scrubbed at his eyes. “You said you were going to string him up for breaking my heart.”

“Yes, because he very handsomely and conscientiously broke up with you. I’m within my rights,” she said, grandiose. “Did he hurt you again? I can make good on that threat now. I’m older and meaner than he is.” She paused. “I didn’t even know you were seeing him.”

“I’m not,” Wei Ying replied, though that was what he desperately wanted to do, especially now, with Lan Zhan being so…

He’d been amazing when they were younger, but now… now he was in a whole different realm of wonderful, far more secure in himself than Wei Ying could ever have guessed he would be. Assured and composed, he was perfect in all the ways that mattered.

“Oh?”

“I… he—I’ve been helping him with some difficulties he’s been having. It turns out being a weird model with a dedicated fan base can be a good thing? So I’ve worked with him in the hopes of getting him some more exposure. Photoshoots, a few of those dumb videos I like to do…” More than a few of those in the end, he still had loads to post if that was what Lan Zhan wanted.

His mother’s brow arched. Her food sat before her, forgotten, and she pillowed her cheek on her hand, elbow planted on the table. “And?”

Wei Ying grimaced. “He… made a perfume for me. To tie into the partnership.”

“And?”

“And it was… a really good perfume.”

A small smile crossed her face, knowing. “And?”

Wei Ying buried his head in his hands and shook it, groaning at his own stupidity being so blatantly on display. “Okay, so. He… we… almost kissed. And I said I couldn’t—I want to be friends, but I couldn’t go back to that. I was being sensible for once, you know? And he was gracious about it and I thought everything was fine and that I could live with that. And then he—then I—did you know putting on perfume could be really sexy? Like, really sexy?”

“Mm,” she agreed.

Heaving a large, dramatic sigh—because if he chose to be over the top about it, he wouldn’t have to feel what he was truly feeling—he looked over at her. “Anyway, I… basically bulldozed him into—” The vague, waving gesture he made encompassed the grimier aspects of it, the bits and pieces that pushed it too far over into too much information territory. “I still love him. Even after all this time, even though I don’t know what I’d do if he… if we got together and broke up again, I don’t know what I’d do, but even so…”

“Even so you want to try?”

Wei Ying’s nose wrinkled and he grimaced. It sounded so soppy, like something out of a shitty romantic drama.

“I guess,” he said, sounding as small as he felt, as ridiculous. Lan Zhan wasn’t… he’d been good and kind about it before. He’d never treated Wei Ying discourteously, but that was the problem. If it happened again, if Wei Ying wasn’t enough…

He didn’t know how to withstand his kindness while being let go again.

His mother’s hand settled across the back of his neck. “You’re a strong kid,” she said, “and you’ve already done the hard part by even seeing him. How many people would want to help their ex the way you did?”

“It was an amicable breakup. I’m sure anyone who—”

“A-Ying, my very sweet, very, very understanding child. It’s only really amicable when both parties agree and want it. He might have done right by you and was gentle about it, but it was still a breakup. You still felt all the pain of it.”

“Ahahah, mom, you’re only saying that because you’re biased.” He tapped his fingers against the counter. “Do you think—? I think he still might have feelings for me, too. Should I—would it be… it’s foolish to want to try again, right?”

His mother made a thoughtful sound. “I suppose if you are both the same people you were before, then it may be,” she said. “Does he seem to have changed any that you’ve noticed?”

In truth? No. He was just as wonderful as before, even while frustrated by what was happening with his family, but he was still driven, so ambitious and willing to bear so much for Gentian House. Though Wei Ying admired him, he could not say whether there was room within him for Wei Ying.

She seemed to sense his feelings, because she squeezed gently, rubbed her thumb soothingly up the side of his neck. “You don’t have to make any decisions now.”

The knot in his chest relaxed a little at her words. He spent too much of his life feeling like he didn’t have time, his schedules brutally packed and demanding he go from here to here to here, always parceling himself out in segments of minutes, hours, days, but—but the truth was, he did. He’d managed to carve that much out for himself simply by being brave, by offering to help.

He could wait and see. Lan Zhan would still be here in three months, working toward his dreams. While he was away, he could think on this and hope maybe.

“You should eat something,” she said, nudging him. “You look like you haven’t been. And I know while you’re abroad you won’t eat right because I never do. I only have a day to fatten you up properly. Go have—”

Wei Ying’s phone, so far having sat innocently on the corner of the counter, suddenly lit up with a notification from Nie Huaisang and then another and more. Before he could even look at them, his phone was ringing.

“Hello?”

“Check the link I sent you,” Nie Huaisang said.

“What’s—”

“I figured you’d want to know. Don’t—don’t worry too much, okay?”

“Okay?” Nie Huaisang’s words did nothing but make him worry.

“Good,” Nie Huaisang said. “Talk later!”

After hanging up, Wei Ying stared at the phone, quickly swiping the notifications away so he had a moment to compose himself before he looked. What could possibly have happened that had Nie Huaisang reaching out to him in this way?

“A-Ying?”

“Don’t worry about it, ma,” he replied. Though he dragged in a breath, he felt no steadier for it. “I think—” It had to be bad news of some sort, but what kind?

He wouldn’t know if he didn’t look.

At first, he couldn’t believe what he was reading. Nie Huaisang had linked to a Weibo post talking about a fire at—at—

He stumbled to his feet. “I have to go.” Bless Nie Huaisang, because he messaged with the hospital and room number where Lan Zhan was being treated before Wei Ying had to pry it from him.

A fire. Lan Zhan had been hurt in a fire at Gentian House and he hadn’t known.

His own notifications were blowing up, posts and comments being made by fans of his who were now fans of Lan Zhan, too.

A fire after all the work Lan Zhan had put in. Lan Zhan, injured for that work.

It was too much.

“I have to go,” he repeated, frantic. “I’m not sure when I’ll be back.”

“He’ll need to be brought back home,” an older man was saying. “He can’t stay on his own while he’s recovering. What if something—”

In truth, Wei Ying wasn’t really thinking when he all but skidded to a stop in the hallway outside the room Nie Huaisang gave once Wei Ying neared the hospital, but he somehow didn’t expect to see Lan Huan and a second, older man who bore a more than canny resemblance to Lan Zhan sitting, poised, on a bench outside the door. It wasn’t so much his appearance as his bearing. Everything about it was familiar.

Both Lan Huan and this other man looked over at him as one, both superficially calm, neither particularly welcoming.

His family. His… surely that was his uncle there with Lan Huan.

Wei Ying swallowed and stopped and tried not to feel the full weight of the fact that he was Lan Zhan’s ex and these were—well, one of them clearly didn’t like him much.

At least Lan Huan was only a reasonable amount of put out by his appearance. Would they ever see one another under decent circumstances?

“Who is this?” Lan Zhan’s uncle said.

“Let me handle this, uncle,” Lan Huan said, rising to his feet. He approached Wei Ying with a smile on his face. Though it was friendly enough on the surface, it hid a great deal, too. It made Wei Ying feel unwelcome even though nothing about Lan Huan’s bearing suggested it. “Hello again. Perhaps we can talk more privately?”

Wei Ying glanced at the door to Lan Zhan’s room, closed for the moment. “Is he okay? Huaisang said—”

“He’ll be fine. Please.” He turned back around. “Uncle, would you like some tea? I can bring some back for you.”

“Be quick,” he answered, cold. He threw a disdainful glance Wei Ying’s way, which—fair. Who wanted a stranger here in these circumstances?

“I will, uncle.”

Wei Ying allowed himself to be led away, hating it when he knew Lan Zhan was so close. He was probably hurt and likely feared what would happen to Gentian House now that it was—damaged at best, completely destroyed at worst. Wei Ying didn’t know and there was nothing he hated more than that.

“Wei Ying,” Lan Huan said once they were around the corner and out of earshot. “What are you doing here? Our uncle won’t—”

“I—I know. Listen, I get that… I understand perfectly well—”

“They’re just giving him a breathing treatment right now and asked that we step outside. Once we’re able to go back in, I’ll let him know you came by, but I can’t let you stay. A-Zhan would want you here. That should be enough, but it’s not. I’m sorry.”

“I—” It seemed like it would never not hurt to have the fact that he was unwelcome in Lan Zhan’s family. “No, I’ll… I can come back later. Or… will he be released? I don’t even know… what happened?”

“Smoke inhalation. A few burns to his airway. He won’t be feeling very good for the next little while, but he’ll be okay. We’ll take care of him.”

It should have been Wei Ying who took care of him, not them. Or not just them. If things had worked out the way he’d once dreamed they would…

But no. Wei Ying wouldn’t become another wedge between Lan Zhan and the life he desired. They could be friends. That was enough. Wanting anything else was too selfish. Lan Zhan didn’t have to change because there was nothing wrong with who he was.

It was as easy to let go of his hopes as that and make the decision he ought to have. Even if he thought about it for three years, he wouldn’t ask Lan Zhan for a thing. That clarity made it easy, as easy as walking away from Lan Zhan in Wangshiyuan. Hopefully, he wouldn’t fall apart later, not now that he knew how it would feel. This time, he’d be Lan Zhan’s friend and nothing more.

“I shouldn’t have come,” he murmured, more to himself than Lan Huan. “I’m sorry. I’ve disrupted your family. At a time like this, it’s… I’ll go. I just. Will… what will happen to Gentian House?”

“I don’t know yet. It’s still standing. How much it’ll cost to repair the damage…? I really can’t say.”

“But is it…?”

“Lan Zhan’s stubborn and resourceful. He won’t give up unless it’s hopeless.”

Is this not, Wei Ying thought. It felt like it. “Okay. I’ll… I’m going to go. Can you have him or… would you let me know how he’s doing? I won’t disturb your uncle or him. Just… I need to know.”

“Wei Ying…”

He had a lot of practice walking away from Lans. It wasn’t so hard to do so yet again, especially when it was the wrong one calling him back.

Lan Zhan stood in front of the building, trying to divine from the outside just how incredibly screwed he was. From Gentian House’s storefront, the damage didn’t look so bad, though when he shifted his gaze to the bakery, there was much more visible from the front, char, broken windows, smoke pouring out in languid streams. Myriad people wandered about, inspectors, gawkers, others Lan Zhan recognized, but didn’t know.

His brother had dropped him off at home, admonishing him that he should stay put while he went to get his things since he went through a lot of trouble telling their uncle he didn’t need to return to their uncle’s home. He had maybe an hour before he’d be missed and already he was regretting his decision to come here instead of resting. All he could smell was smoke, like he was the empty shell that had been burned and not the bakery, not, perhaps, Gentian House.

He coughed and the cough dragged itself out into a wheeze. The air felt too cold against the inside of his mouth, the back of his throat. It made his head throb and his lungs spasm in protest. Though it hurt to walk, he trudged down the sidewalk to the end of the block and rounded the back to the alley. It was no less choked with people back here.

As he slipped between them, evading notice as best he could, he approached as close as he could. Unfortunately, he couldn’t get closer than a few meters in. The fire department had cordoned off both the bakery and Gentian House.

The low murmur of voices caught and held his attention, but nobody said anything useful, so he stopped paying attention to them, instead focusing on gleaning what he could from the officials working.

From this angle, he couldn’t see much, but he was finally able to flag down a woman who was working behind the cordon. His voice was rasping when he spoke and he was a little embarrassed about that, but there wasn’t much he could do about it. “Do you know anything about how damaged the second business’s space is?”

“The, uh, perfume shop?”

Lan Zhan nodded. “I’m the owner.”

She offered him a sympathetic look. “There won’t be any estimates any time soon, sir. They’re still trying to figure out how to begin cleanup procedures. I expect you’re looking at a complete rewire at the very least. It’ll be a while.”

Longer than Lan Zhan had, that was likely. He couldn’t do this without that space. Even with insurance payouts that would take forever to clear, it wouldn’t… He couldn’t just—

He patted at his cardigan, not even the cardigan he’d been wearing earlier, but a fresh one that his brother had brought to him at the hospital, and remembered then then that he’d had to abandon his notebook. Even such a small thing as that was barred from him, probably damaged beyond repair.

There was no reason for him to remain here now. “Thank you,” he said to the woman and then ducked between the other onlookers. Searching his pocket for his phone to request a rideshare, he couldn’t find that either, had no idea where it was.

At least he had his wallet. It’d been a while since he’d taken the metro. Surely it couldn’t be that bad.

When he stepped out of the elevator onto his floor, he expected the hallway to be empty. It usually was at this time of day, most people at the office or otherwise busy with their lives elsewhere. What he didn’t expect and what caused his chest to seize up—not, for once, because it was still a little hard to breath, lungs aching and abused—was the hunched over figure sitting outside of his apartment. Though the figure’s arms curled around their tucked up legs and their face was pressed against their knees, he knew exactly who it was.

“Wei Ying?” he called, though he was still half the hall away. His voice was thready, harsh. Not his own.

Wei Ying flinched and raised his head. “Lan Zhan!” Jumping to his feet, he brushed his hands over his eyes and smiled, a little wobbly. “Where have you been? Your brother said…”

“My brother?”

“I, ah…” Laughing bitterly, he rubbed his hands together and stared down at the ground. “Huaisang told me you—I tried to visit you at the hospital. It was probably a little rash of me, but, ah. Well. Your brother and uncle were there. I didn’t want to—he kindly let me know you were released after your breathing treatment and asked me to come over to keep an eye on you while he retrieved his things from his place? I thought maybe… I don’t know. I knocked and there was no answer and you didn’t answer your messages. I thought perhaps you didn’t want to see me, so I’ve just been, uh, waiting? For him to come back? But you weren’t there at all, were you?”

Lan Zhan shook his head, overwhelmed by the frantic emotion underpinning Wei Ying’s words. Wei Ying looked as though he was the one who’d just gone through hell, fidgeting and wan, devastated. “I went to—” Voice still too rasping, he swallowed. “I wanted to see Gentian House. I don’t know where my phone is. I’m—I’m sorry I worried you. Aren’t you leaving tonight?”

“There’s still time before I have to go. Anyway, it’s okay. Not your fault. We’ll just pretend you were here the whole time, yeah? Our little secret?”

“Mn.” And then, because it felt important to say, “I will always want to see you, Wei Ying.”

Wei Ying’s eyes widened and then he looked away, flushing slightly. “Even after…?”

“Even after,” Lan Zhan agreed. “I didn’t expect you to stay. I don’t hold it against you that you didn’t.”

“Oh.” And then, “How’s… how’s Gentian House?”

He was exhausted suddenly at the thought of keeping secrets, but he said nothing more as he entered the code for the door. He was exhausted in general. Perhaps that was why, when he finally did gather up the words to speak, he answered truthfully. “It doesn’t matter,” he said and as he said it, he knew it was incontrovertible. “I can’t—” His throat spasmed around a cough as he pointed at the couch in offering. “I can’t keep it.”

Wei Ying froze in the middle of the floor and then turned, wide-eyed. “What?”

“I can’t keep fighting for it. I’m—I’m tired and…” And he’d failed, both himself and Wei Ying. He needed to accept that. He’d only make it worse by not doing so. What did any of this matter now when Wei Ying was going?

Wei Ying’s features went slack in disbelief, maybe something more. “What?”

“What?”

“Lan Zhan, that’s—” He took a few steps toward Lan Zhan and then turned away and then, like he didn’t quite know what to do, twisted toward the kitchen. “I’m going to make tea. You’ll sit down. Can you even drink tea right now or…? Probably not super hot, right? Iced? No, maybe not that either. Tepid tea it is.”

Lan Zhan grimaced, not only at the thought of drinking tepid tea, but at the high, angry note in Wei Ying’s voice. He sat heavily and slouched back against the cushions, closed his eyes, and listened to the sound of Wei Ying working away in his kitchen. It was so painfully domestic that something in Lan Zhan’s heart lurched.

After a few minutes, Wei Ying returned with two mugs and sat them both on the coffee table. Flopping down near him, he leaned back, too, almost perfectly mirroring Lan Zhan’s terrible posture. “Lan Zhan, you can’t just give up like this. That’s not like you.”

“Wei Ying, I’m tired.”

“You’re just not accustomed to setbacks like this. Trust me, you can make it through. You’re tough underneath that soft, gooey exterior.”

Soft, gooey exterior. Ridiculous. “It’s not a joke.”

“Who’s saying it was? Lan Zhan, you are—look. You’re a great person and you’re smart and capable. You work hard. You’re principled and determined, but you’ve also been fortunate. Sometimes that makes things more daunting than they need to be. This sucks. It really, really does. And I’m sure it feels like everything is coming against you hard all of a sudden, but… you pick yourself back up and keep going.”

That all sounded very nice, but: “What’s the point?”

“What?”

He stretched forward and winced, pressing his hand to his chest. Wei Ying, ever solicitous, scrambled forward and picked up the tea for him while pressing his palm warmly between his shoulder blades. It was nice. Too nice. Lan Zhan should have told him to stop. He didn’t deserve Wei Ying’s warm kindness nor his touch. “What’s the point, Wei Ying, really?”

“You’re doing what you love. That’s the point.”

“I’ve caused my family no end of grief and annoyance over my decisions and I lost everything else that really mattered to me. How can you tell me that doing what I love is enough? What about everything else I hold dear?”

“Were you happy doing it? Lan Zhan, I’ve seen how you get. You derived something out of all of this. It looked a lot like happiness to me. That’s a special thing. You’ve given up so much for it.”

“Not enough happiness.” Just a burned-out husk of a building. In fact, the happiest he ever felt within that building was when Wei Ying was there with him. “I don’t think it’s worth it.”

“You were just released from the hospital,” Wei Ying replied. “Drink your tea and process it and then come back to your decision to throw everything away, yeah? What would you even do in this hypothetical situation anyway?”

“Go back to Cloud Recesses,” he answered. That was easy. That was his only option, wasn’t it? He couldn’t do anything else. And if he went there, at least he’d have his family’s backing again. Possibly, he’d be able to earn their good graces. He wouldn’t put a strain on his relationship with his brother at least.

“Seriously?”

“Mn.” He sipped the tea. It was probably still a little too hot and burned a little going down, but he didn’t care. Such things should hurt.

“Just like that? Not even going to try to make a change there?”

Lan Zhan looked askance at him. “What change could I enact?”

Wei Ying shrugged and reached for his own mug, pondering it like it might spit back a useful answer. “I don’t know.” Pouting, he swirled the mug. “You could try at least even if you don’t want sole responsibility of Gentian House anymore. There has to be some middle ground between wonky sell-out and artist clawing in the dirt for recognition of his craft.”

Lan Zhan breathed through his nose, almost coughed again. “Right now, I just want to drink this tea. I don’t want to think about these bizarre dreams you’re having on my behalf.”

Wei Ying scoffed. “Please. You’re looking at the master of downplaying dreams right here.” Kicking lightly at Lan Zhan’s ankle, he took a delicate, mischievous sip of his own tea. “It’s not my fault you’re hurting and acting petulant.”

Amusement bubbled within him, the first flicker of it in a long, long time. And then it popped and he felt sad all over again, but not for himself or Gentian House this time. “What’s your big dream?”

Wei Ying said nothing, mouth pulling into a frown. Lan Zhan wasn’t sure he’d answer except then he said, quiet, “I never did get to see all of Wangshiyuan.”

It was his heart, this time, that threatened to punch a hole in his chest, not the urge to cough, not his fear of failure. “Wei Ying…”

Before Wei Ying could respond, there was a light knock on the door. After a moment’s delay—no doubt his brother entering the code—Lan Huan stepped inside. A warm smile greeted both him and Wei Ying. A variety of white cloth bags decorated his arms.

Wei Ying shot to his feet, breathed out as though in relief, and darted around the edge of the couch like he couldn’t get far enough away fast enough. “Huan-ge, right on time! I took very good care of your brother. He didn’t cause a bit of trouble.”

“That’s good to hear,” Lan Huan answered. “I didn’t expect he would.”

Wei Ying laughed lightly and patted Lan Huan’s arm, squeezing lightly. “Anyway, I should—I have a lot of packing I need to do before tonight.”

“Then I’m grateful you could spare time for my brother,” Lan Huan answered. Though Lan Zhan owed him his gratitude as well, he couldn’t speak. If asked, he might blame it on the smoke inhalation. His throat did hurt after all. “I won’t keep you.”

“Bye, Lan Zhan! Take care of yourself, okay?”

Lan Zhan swallowed around the lump in his throat, blinked lightly several times, nodded curtly. “I will.”

He didn’t look up again until long after Wei Ying had closed the door as quietly and unobtrusively as possible, as though he didn’t want to cause any further disturbance in Lan Zhan’s day.

“Wen Ning, did I ever tell you you’re really the best?” Wei Ying asked as he piled into the passenger’s seat after having awkwardly waited outside Lan Zhan’s apartment complex. Even just being somewhere familiar, somewhere where he didn’t have dumb secrets to spill, like the content of his biggest dream—and that hadn’t been a lie either, wasn’t meant to be a guilt trip for all that it was true, probably the most truthful thing he’d said to Lan Zhan in a very long time—so close to spilling everything else, too, the day he had to leave for months on end and right after Lan Zhan was injured and hurting and had lost everything.

What happened to being his friend, he asked himself, vicious.

“You have,” Wen Ning said, agreeable, “but not lately.”

“Well, you are,” Wei Ying replied, “and also I need a favor.” The words were out of his mouth before he knew he was going to say them, which was just really not convenient, because Wen Ning was already opening his mouth, saying, “I’m not helping you pack,” and that wasn’t what he needed, no, though help with that would have been nice because time was slipping away from him.

“No,” he said, groaning, “I need an even dumber favor.” Because an idea had been brewing in the back of his mind while he’d waited for Wen Ning, while he’d waited for the elevators to allow him to wait for Wen Ning, while he’d sat there with Lan Zhan even before that, listening to him throwing everything away when there was always, always a compromise to be made. Why was Lan Zhan’s first and only answer to do that? Infuriating. “Also, uh, maybe make sure I don’t get arrested.”

“Wei Ying…”

“I’m not going to get arrested.” Probably. “Maybe just an escort off the premises.”

“What premises?”

Wei Ying winced. This was really, really a bad idea, but—but he could do this for Lan Zhan; he could try to open a door without closing another fucking window on him. “Cloud Recesses.”

Wen Ning was always very, very good at not taking his eyes off the road, but this time was the exception. He absolutely threw a double take at Wei Ying. It was just luck that kept them from getting into an accident or something. “Wei Ying, this is…”

“I know. Wen Ning, I am perfectly well aware.” He also had this bottle of perfume burning a hole in his pocket, a gift from Lan Zhan, a reminder that Lan Zhan cared for him even now, an albatross to drag him down. It couldn’t be more. His mother, after all, was still right. His own heart was right. Lan Zhan was driven by the work and always would be. He was willing to go back to a place he’d escaped, that he thought stifled him, for the work. He never even considered another option. The same tunnel vision that drove him to break up with Wei Ying—work, work, work—drove him to believe he couldn’t find a third path.

That was how he knew nothing had changed. It wasn’t even that he expected Lan Zhan to remain estranged from his uncle. Frankly, he wasn’t even sure he wanted that. It was just that the thought never crossed his mind. He was still so locked up in this either-or way of thinking. There could be no room for Wei Ying within that.

Lan Zhan had come so close to something Wei Ying could have trusted, but still the work utterly prevailed in the end.

“Do you… do you think he’ll thank you? For whatever you’re doing?” Wen Ning asked. “Will it help you?”

“Getting out of here without a guilty conscience will help me,” Wei Ying answered. “I have to try. It’s not about getting thanked for it.”

Wen Ning hummed, but he was a good guy. He never really tried to argue Wei Ying out of his plans, even if they were terrible like this one probably was. When they arrived—far too quickly for Wei Ying’s comfort—Wen Ning offered him a soft, encouraging smile. “I’ve got your lawyer on speed dial,” he said, as Wei Ying stepped onto the curb. “Let me know when you’re ready to head home. I’ll help you pack.”

“You said you wouldn’t.”

Wen Ning’s look gentled. “I know,” he answered, “but I would have anyway.”

Fishing his mask from his pocket, he hooked it around his ear and pulled it across his mouth. “You really are the best, Wen Ning!”

Cloud Recesses was everything Wei Ying would have expected it to be and more. It was cool, serene, unwelcoming in a way that somehow still managed to seem courteous, though how a silver-toned lobby decorated in pale blues and slate grays could be construed as courteous was a topic Wei Ying wasn’t particularly interested in delving into. A bank of elevators flanked one wall. Along the other a large, metallic panel that outlined Cloud Recesses’s ethos and vision loomed.

Wei Ying ignored it.

The perfume continued to burn a hole in his pocket. That, Wei Ying couldn’t ignore.

A handful of individuals sat at a large reception desk down the center, though they mostly went ignored as trickles of people wandered from the entryway to the elevators or over to the door leading to the stairwell. Nobody paid him much mind, which he was grateful for. This was, he realized rather quickly, not the best idea he’d ever had.

Sighing, he approached the desk and waited patiently for one of the receptionists to lift their head and pay attention to him. “Good afternoon, sir. How can I help you?”

Trying to dig himself out from beneath a wellspring of embarrassment was the worst part of having any degree of notoriety, but there wasn’t time to do this appropriately and somehow arrange a meeting in a way that wouldn’t make him look like an asshole. Other people with clout and prestige abused it all the time. Wei Ying could do so, too. For Lan Zhan. Even if it filled him with shame.

His mother would pretend to be scandalized and then accuse him of having grown a big head.

It would be easier if he could reach out to Lan Huan about this, but since he was with Lan Zhan, Wei Ying couldn’t trust that Lan Zhan wouldn’t find out and try to stop him. “I need to speak with Lan Qiren.” He raised his hand to forestall the woman’s words. “I know you can’t possibly interrupt him, blah blah blah. But I’m a friend of Lan Zhan’s.”

There was a flicker of something in her eyes at hearing the name.

He pulled the mask from his mouth and knew he’d been recognized, too. There was something to be said for clout. How much of it was due to intra-office gossip remained to be seen. Surely word would have gotten around. “My name is Wei Ying. I won’t ask you to put yourself into an uncomfortable position, but I do need you to somehow relay to Lan Qiren that I wish to speak with him.” Even if he’s not here, he thought, for the first time considering perhaps Lan Qiren might have taken some time due to his nephew’s brush with… no, Wei Ying didn’t want to think about that. Lan Zhan was fine. He didn’t do dumb things like get caught in fires. This would never happen again. They should be able to reach him. “That’s all I need.”

Lan Qiren would very probably take it from there. He just… needed the chance.

Offering him a slight, pitying smile, she said, “If you’ll take a seat, I’ll… see what I can do.”

“Thank you.” The threat of time breathed down his neck and he checked his phone repeatedly as he waited and waited and waited. In the meantime, he scoured the internet for any argument he could use on Lan Qiren to explain why Gentian House was a valuable investment just as it was. He tried not to look too often at the receptionist in case she felt pressured, but he couldn’t—he just needed to know if he stood—

“Mister Wei?” she called, just as he was about to stand up.

“Yes?” He cleared his throat, embarrassed at how eager he sounded, pushed himself the rest of the way up and rushed over, embarrassed anew.

“You have ten minutes. I’ll escort you up.”

At the end of an inexorably long elevator ride, the receptionist handed him off to an exuberant young man named Lan Jingyi who, despite apparently working directly for Lan Qiren, had a sense of humor and charm and a giant mouth. “Wow, when Miss Yang told me who was coming up, I thought she was pulling my leg. Are you really a friend of Zhan-ge’s?”

“I like to think so,” Wei Ying answered as Lan Jingyi guided him through an array of offices and neat cubes where quiet, diligent people worked. It creeped Wei Ying out.

“Wow. No shi—way.” He laughed and dragged his hand over his elbow. “You didn’t hear that.”

“Hear what?”

Lan Jingyi laughed again. “I can’t see why Zhan-ge likes you, but I can definitely see why I like you.”

“Thanks,” Wei Ying replied, dry. Though Lan Jingyi’s words might have hurt once, they didn’t now. Even if Lan Jingyi couldn’t understand, it didn’t matter, because it was still true, a law of nature that science hadn’t yet unraveled: it didn’t make sense that he and Lan Zhan were friends, but it was an irrefutable truth of the world regardless.

They would always be friends.

Lan Jingyi stopped in front of a door. Along the wall was a metal placard. Lan Qiren’s office. “And here we are. Good luck!”

“Jingyi?”

Lan Jingyi spun around, ending his retreat away from Lan Qiren’s office. “Yes, Wei-ge?”

“You’re a good kid,” he replied, “probably. Thanks for the escort and your support.”

“No problem, Wei-ge! That’s what I’m here for!” And then he was gone again.

“Ridiculous,” Wei Ying muttered. He only hesitated the smallest amount before knocking, but nobody was there to mock him for it, so basically it didn’t happen.

“Come.” Lan Qiren’s voice was gruff, displeased. Even through the heavy door, Wei Ying could tell he wasn’t wanted.

Ten minutes. Ten minutes to help Lan Zhan. It would be worth it if only he could do that much.

The inside of Lan Qiren’s office was… surprisingly normal. All things considered. Not especially severe or sedate. It was tastefully decorated and there were even a few photographs of Lan Zhan and his brother from—from back when Wei Ying originally knew Lan Zhan and even younger. They lined the wall perpendicular to Lan Qiren’s desk and he gravitated naturally to them.

“You are aware you’re wasting your time,” Lan Qiren said.

Right. Of course. He veered back toward the chairs in front of Lan Qiren’s desk. “Thank you for seeing me.”

“You’re wasting your time and mine. I can’t imagine what you might want from me that you think I’m willing or able to give.”

Wei Ying, keenly aware of the seconds slipping between his fingers, wasted a few more as he drew in a deep breath. “May I sit?”

Lan Qiren nodded and gestured.

“What I want…” No, that wasn’t the tack to take here. Wei Ying’s desires weren’t important. “Lan Zhan is an excellent perfumer.”

Lan Qiren’s mouth twitched, but he said nothing.

“He’s an excellent perfumer who spent a very long time being shackled to old ways of thinking about the role of a perfumer in the industry.”

“I don’t think you’re qualified to speak on the perfume industry, Wei Ying.”

Though he was mostly pulling his amateur analysis out of his ass, he said, “I know that the number of niche perfume companies is only growing while interest in designer-led commercial brands are, while still profitable, not the only profitable way of doing things. I know that if given the chance, Lan Zhan would succeed in that niche and he would flourish there.”

“Many people don’t have the chance at all. What makes Lan Zhan deserving of the good fortune so many others are denied?”

“You have the means to help him. Why not help him be the best possible version of himself? He’s your nephew.”

“And he threw that relationship back in my face without repentance. Explain to me why my nephew should be granted the opportunity to throw his birthright away again and again. I thought myself rid of your influence when I told him in no uncertain terms that he was wasting his time with you.” He paused, mouth drawn downward. “And yet, here you are advocating for him. He came back to Cloud Recesses and you disappeared and he was better for it and then he tossed that aside, too, eventually. He couldn’t even tell me why. He came into my office and said, ‘Uncle, I can’t stay here any longer.’ What does that tell you?”

It shouldn’t have hurt to hear, but it drove a knife through his heart anyway, twisted itself because Lan Qiren wasn’t saying anything Wei Ying hadn’t thought and worse over the years. “Nothing I’m not already aware of, I can assure you.”

“Then what exactly do you want? Why should I help him? Why should you help him?”

“Because I want him to be happy,” Wei Ying replied, voice raised. What really was so hard to understand about that? “He does amazing work and I want him to be able to do it. He feels bad about what happened with you and I would like to help with that, too. That’s why I’m here. And I think I can.”

Lan Qiren scoffed. Wei Ying wouldn’t be deterred. Hell, he wouldn’t even be in the country come tomorrow.

“Lan Zhan doesn’t think he has any other option besides coming back to Cloud Recesses and doing what he always did. I think that’s a bad idea, because what happens if he decides to leave again? That would be bad, right?” Wei Ying didn’t think it was so very great a sin, but clearly he wasn’t the only one involved in this. “So why don’t you split the difference with him? Bring Gentian House under the auspices of Cloud Recesses. Let him do his thing, you get your cake and eat it, too. Most of your people do what you’ve always done, but you also have this cool new thing that can generate interest or cachet or whatever it is perfume wonks like. He’s back working for you. He’s doing what he loves without having to scrape and grind himself away to do it. Maybe you even convince him to take some of those briefs you kept trying to steal from him. Everyone’s compromised. Everyone’s happy, yes?”

Lan Qiren stared, openly hostile.

“I still have at least three minutes and I don’t even need all of them.”

Lan Qiren’s eyebrow twitched.

“This, I think, is why.” He retrieved the bottle from his pocket, where he’d kept it since Lan Zhan had given it to him, unable to part with it. For this, he thought he could.

Wei Ying placed it on the desk.

“He’s fucking amazing,” he said, tapping the cap once. “That’s why you should want him back. That’s why you should want to take care of him and give him a longer leash. That’s what he can bring back to Cloud Recesses.”

Before Lan Qiren could say something snide or Wei Ying could lose his nerve and steal the bottle back, the one piece of Lan Zhan he could rightly keep because Lan Zhan had given it freely, Wei Ying made for the door and stepped through it.

Right now, a few months out of the country sounded like a dream. He could clear his head of all this and he wouldn’t have to worry about seeing the outcome of his meddling.

What would happen would happen with or without Wei Ying.

It was probably for the best that way.

He really would miss that bottle of perfume though.

The sound of his brother speaking woke Lan Zhan from the groggy half-doze he’d fallen into after Wei Ying had gone. He considered feigning sleep when he heard the other voice, gruff and disapproving from the entryway, but he was curled into the couch, tucked in with a blanket; he felt ridiculous, ripped open, and Wei Ying was gone. The ache in his chest, the dry, gritty feel of his eyes, he couldn’t chalk it all up to what happened today. He wanted to ignore everything except the life he might have led if he’d taken even a single chance of value with Wei Ying.

Wei Ying was packing to leave and Lan Zhan hadn’t even thanked him. They’d—they’d been together again and he’d let Wei Ying go, let Wei Ying believe Lan Zhan could let him go, let Wei Ying come back and leave again without even a show of gratitude that stuck. Wei Ying had always waved him off before. Lan Zhan should have tried harder.

If he told himself it was for the best—Wei Ying didn’t want anything else to do with him, nor should he, not even when nostalgia and longing ravaged him beyond what smoke and the destruction of his entire life’s work could do—if he told himself that, maybe one day he wouldn’t feel like the blood pulsing through his body burned like acid.

Heavy footsteps approached as he pushed himself upright. Sucking in a too-quick breath, he coughed again, and his brother, too doting in his attentions, shoved his inhaler into his face.

“Uncle,” he said, rasping. “Why are you here?”

A twitch of displeasure curled at the corner of his mouth. “You look terrible,” he said. “When was the last time you ate properly?”

“He’s had broth and a bit of congee while I’ve been here,” Lan Huan said before Lan Zhan could give his uncle the truth: he felt terrible and he hadn’t eaten properly in over a year probably and he hurt so much and he didn’t want his uncle to come here and say these things to him. “And plenty of tea.”

And before Lan Zhan could argue with Lan Huan, Lan Huan was already darting into the kitchen. “Speaking of,” he explained, heading right for the kettle.

Lan Qiren took a seat in the chair near the couch—a chair that was rarely used these days—and crossed his legs primly as he pinned Lan Zhan with a viciously incisive glare. “Is he so injured he can’t speak for himself?”

Biting back a grimace, Lan Zhan shook his head. “I have looked after myself.”

Arching a disbelieving brow, Lan Qiren said, “It appears to me that it’s this Wei Ying that’s been looking after you.”

“Wei Ying?”

A canister of tea struck the counter. A quiet, “Oh,” from his brother followed.

Lan Qiren pulled a very familiar, very precious bottle from the inside pocket of his jacket. “He brought me this,” Lan Qiren said, deceptively calm, “and told me I would be lucky to have you back.”

There was no reason why this should be the thing that broke him, but as tears brimmed in his eyes and heat flooded his cheeks, he couldn’t—even this, Wei Ying didn’t feel entitled to keep. “That isn’t for you,” he said, pained by the gravel in his voice that couldn’t be attributed to his injury. His body ached too badly to reach for it, but everything in him clamored for him to snatch it back.

“He feels Cloud Recesses would benefit from having its own studio.”

Another clatter in the kitchen, this time followed by an apology.

“I dislike the idea,” his uncle replied. “There is nothing wrong with the way we and other companies do business. We can be proud of the work we’ve always done. It works well.”

Lan Zhan’s teeth ached from how hard he ground them together. “I am aware.”

Lan Qiren leaned toward Lan Zhan and held out the bottle to him. “I also cannot deny that this is an exquisitely rendered perfume.”

There was a hiss and the clicking shiver of porcelain, this time from closer than the kitchen. “I’m okay,” Lan Huan said. A grimacing smile pasted itself to his mouth as he brought a wide-rimmed cup to their uncle and poured tea gently into it. Lan Zhan couldn’t meet his eyes even though they sparkled with hope—hope for Lan Zhan, hope that Lan Zhan couldn’t trust in.

“When you left, I believed you’d left behind the best work you’d ever do. In the absence of the rules of our trade, I thought you’d flounder.”

I did, Lan Zhan thought. I have.

“I would like to purchase Gentian House and bring it back under the umbrella of Cloud Recesses. You would be allowed access to the labs as before and you would be granted a handful of pupils to train in your methods and preferred style. I would ask that you occasionally accept work that does justice to Cloud Recesses’s name as a whole. You would be largely left to your own devices otherwise to build Gentian House into whatever you wish it to be.”

Lan Zhan stared blankly. He understood what his uncle was saying, knew the meaning of each and every word intimately, but he couldn’t begin to guess why or how they were coming out of his uncle’s mouth. “Uncle…”

It was too good to be true. It came with too high a price tag. Why would Wei Ying do this for him? Why should he get to have this when none of it mattered without Wei Ying, when Wei Ying had…

He couldn’t turn Wei Ying’s gesture down, not when it was the only thing he had left, not when that gesture had forced concessions from his uncle that Lan Zhan never would have guessed possible. It was…

It was everything he wanted, everything except Wei Ying.

He would do everything he could to earn it. “I would…” He coughed, cleared his throat. This time, he could barely blame it on the lingering taste of smoke in his mouth. The tears that gathered in his eyes weren’t a result of the grit he still felt there. He would not let them fall before his uncle. “I will do my best.”

At his side, his brother huffed in relief and his smile broadened so widely that Lan Zhan worried his dimples would permanently etch themselves into his cheeks. When Lan Zhan looked at him, he couldn’t even bring himself to drop it to something less wildly joyful. Lan Zhan couldn’t feel the same pure, unabashed relief, not when the cost was so high, but it was something, an easing of the fears within him.

“Though you’ll be granted more freedoms than you had before,” Lan Qiren said, “I will expect this level of quality in everything you do.”

Of course he could replicate that quality. This was the sort of work he was always meant for. “I have one requirement.”

“Are you in a position to require anything?”

“Uncle,” Lan Huan cut in, disappointed.

“I’m not,” Lan Zhan agreed, pressing his hand to Lan Huan’s knee, “but I will ask anyway.”

Three Months Later

“Are you sure he won’t—?” Lan Zhan asked, fighting every urge within him to do something. Send a text, run away, make some big, grand gesture in the middle of the airport as he waited for Wei Ying.

“He’ll be delighted to see you,” Wen Ning insisted, as did Wen Yuan, who nodded enthusiastically and added, “Just you wait.”

He didn’t know how that was possible, but he swallowed down his fears anyway, his despair and concern. He’d thought about this moment since Wei Ying left his apartment. Day after day, he checked Wei Ying’s posts, watched every video, analyzed every photo. He seemed happy, but from Milan or London or Paris, how could Lan Zhan truly tell? And here Wei Ying’s family was assuring him it would be okay when they had no reason to be so courteous or kind to him.

Wen Ning swiped through his phone and nodded. “It shouldn’t be much longer.”

Despite Wen Ning’s proclamation, the minutes dragged and dragged. Even pacing through the empty cluster of plastic seats in the waiting area helped little. Hands shoved into his pockets, he stared at his feet, counting his steps. From the opposite end of the group of seats, he saw travelers spilling finally from the gate. Loud chattering followed and though Lan Zhan ought to have returned to Wen Ning’s side to wait, his feet suddenly felt as though they were made of stone or cement. He couldn’t move, not even when he heard, heard Wei Ying’s shout of delight. “Wen Ning! A-Yuan!”

Wei Ying. Here. In the flesh. Maybe five meters away from him. Wei Ying, close enough to hear without being filtered through the awful, tinny speakers of his phone. Wei Ying, his face buried in Wen Yuan’s neck as he was pulled in for a hug.

Still, Lan Zhan couldn’t move, scarcely breathed. He was an intruder here. He shouldn’t have—it wasn’t right to come. If he had to do this, he should have waited until Wei Ying was settled. He could have said his piece over text to allow Wei Ying distance or at least a choice in the matter.

When he finally succeeded in taking a step, it was toward the rest of the concourse, the flow of foot traffic heading toward the various exits.

“Lan Zhan!”

He stopped again, grimaced, breathed, breathed. He turned and looked. Wei Ying stared at him from across those five meters, saying nothing else, but clearly…

From behind Wei Ying, Wen Ning nodded and then grabbed Wen Yuan by the arm, pulling him away, pointing at the small stretch of benches on the other side of the long hallway.

…clearly Wei Ying wanted him to come over, meet him more than halfway for once.

It was easy to cross the distance now despite the fear that still clung to him.

“Lan Zhan,” he said, softer, once Lan Zhan was within reach. And he did reach, grabbed and pulled Lan Zhan into the same soul-crushing hug he’d given to Wen Yuan. “Lan Zhan, what are you doing here?”

“I wanted to thank you,” Lan Zhan replied, muffled by Wei Ying’s shoulder and by something else he couldn’t quite admit to. It was one thing to hope. It was another to hope out loud. “I… I should have messaged you maybe.”

“Ah, no. It’s—this is a nice surprise, Lan Zhan. I was so busy anyway and the hours were—urgh. Terrible.” He grinned as though nothing had changed between them. “Anyway!”

“Wei Ying…” Wei Ying was always forgiving others for their transgressions, forgetting about them as soon as they took place. “Wei Ying, I know what you did for me. There’s… I can’t even begin to make it up to you.”

“Ah, Lan Zhan, Lan Zhan.” He pulled Lan Zhan back, scrutinized him at arm’s length. “Did your uncle unclench a little bit at last?”

Lan Zhan nodded. More than that, really. He felt like he was beginning to piece his family back together. Gentian House would be all the stronger for it in the end. He owed Wei Ying for that.

Wei Ying’s grin brightened. “Good! That’s so good. Lan Zhan, I’m happy for you. There’s nothing to make up for, I promise.”

“There is.” Though it was the last thing he wanted to do, he stepped out of Wei Ying’s embrace and reached into his bag, wrapped his fingers around cool glass. Wei Ying watched, curious, head tilted and bit his lip. “This is yours.”

When Wei Ying held out his palm, Lan Zhan dropped the one and only bottle of unrestrained into Wei Ying’s hand. Depending on Wei Ying’s reaction, it would remain the only bottle.

It was Lan Zhan’s turn to make a gesture.

Wei Ying stared helplessly down at the bottle, so small and insignificant. In the grand scheme of things, what did one prototype bottle of perfume matter? “Lan Zhan?”

He would not force Wei Ying, nor beg, nor plead. He could only hope Wei Ying understood what he meant. Something of his desires must have shown on his face, because Wei Ying’s features crumpled with guilt and he could no longer meet Lan Zhan’s eyes.

“Lan Zhan,” he said, as though in mourning for what they couldn’t have back. “Lan Zhan, I can’t. I can’t go back. Not like that.” Lifting his head, he finally searched Lan Zhan’s face. What he saw could not convince him. It wasn’t enough. How could it be? “I…”

“I understand.”

Wei Ying laughed, a choked-off, bitter chuckle of a sound, discordant. He wrapped his hand around Lan Zhan’s, curled his fingers against the bottle. “Let me know when you’re ready to promo it, huh? I’ll be there to do the shoot.”

What Wei Ying didn’t know was there would be no shoot, not for this perfume, not now.

Distantly, Wen Ning and Wen Yuan waited, confused, as Wei Ying stepped toward them and away from Lan Zhan.

“Wei Ying?” he called only once Wei Ying reached them, save from Lan Zhan’s urge to start running his mouth. “Can I see you again?”

“We’re good friends, Lan Zhan,” Wei Ying replied, loud over the other travelers bustling about. “You can see me whenever you want.”

He wouldn’t take Wei Ying up on it, of course, but it was nice—it was nice to hear it.

His uncle sighed and shook his head, pressed his hand to his chin. “What is your requirement then?”

“I intend… there is something I must ask Wei Ying when he returns. If he tells me no—” And there was a very good chance he would. Lan Zhan deserved to be turned down, shunned, scorned. “—if he says he doesn’t want it—”

Lips thin, his uncle said, “Lan Zhan, we’ve discussed—”

“Wei Ying is not negotiable, but if he doesn’t want it back, this perfume doesn’t get released. You can have Gentian House and I will come back, but this perfume doesn’t belong to me.”

“If he says yes?”

“Then you can have Gentian House. You can have me. And you can have this perfume.”

“Why? Why this requirement? It makes no difference.”

“This perfume means everything to me, conveys everything I’ve ever hoped to convey to the world about my belief in what perfume can be. I couldn’t have done it without him. I can’t do it without him. This perfume is his. If he doesn’t want it, the world can’t have it either.”

“It won’t change anything. Foolishly throwing away your work—”

“It doesn’t have to change anything. It’s what I will do regardless.”

“You never learned what I was trying to teach you.”

Lan Zhan leaned forward and wished there was another way. As gently, as respectfully as he could, he said, “Uncle, I sincerely hope I never learn this lesson.”

When Nie Huaisang messaged Wei Ying to tell him that Gentian House was searching for a model for an ad campaign, Wei Ying was both pleased and concerned. Pleased, because that meant Lan Zhan’s perfume was close to being made a reality and concerned because… “Really? How come Lan Zhan didn’t tell me?” he asked himself aloud. How come he didn’t ask me? I offered. I thought…

Nie Huaisang, taking a long time to reply to Wei Ying’s message, could only say he didn’t know the answer.

Of course, he had to do it. Not just because it felt like a dangling thread, but because—because despite Lan Zhan asking if they could see one another, he hadn’t once reached out to Wei Ying. He’d… honestly, he wasn’t sure what he wanted. It was clear enough from before that Lan Zhan had wanted to try again, but the only thing Wei Ying could think of was how solidly, resolutely Lan Zhan Lan Zhan remained.

He couldn’t put his heart on the line that way if he wanted to stay friends with Lan Zhan. It was impossible. He couldn’t make a mess of his heart again when nothing had changed, not really. Someday, it might.

Someday. If Lan Zhan would see him or speak with him.

Are they running an open call or is someone reaching out specifically?

This time, Nie Huaisang was quick to respond. An address and a time to be there. You’re already on the list. I’m sure you’ll win the contract if that’s what you want.

It was.

And he did.

It would be a nice sendoff to a career he intended to leave behind entirely. These months spent getting yelled at and ordered around, away from his family and loved ones, away from the food he liked best and the home he was most comfortable in… he was tired of it, exhausted. If he learned anything from working with Lan Zhan again, it was that doing the same thing endlessly got him nowhere he wanted to be.

So. One last hurrah. For Lan Zhan. It was fitting.

If Wei Ying could work for Lan Zhan exclusively, he’d never want to leave the industry that had treated him, to varying degrees, well. He’d been compensated for the trouble anyway. But the fact that Lan Zhan only seemed to hire good photographers, not just skilled ones, but genuinely humane and kind ones, only made it genuinely appealing. When he arrived at set today, Wen Ning leaving him at the door with an admonition to take care of himself, he was excited.

The thought of seeing Lan Zhan again did nothing to inhibit that feeling of excitement and possibility.

By the time he was made ready, he was expecting to see Lan Zhan around every corner. His arms and neck were covered in gold jewelry that looked a little like cuffs and a collar for how numerous they were. It was very decadent, very different from what Wei Ying might have expected from Cloud Recesses, and certainly different from the work he did for Gentian House alone.

One of the assistants brought a bottle over, the one Wei Ying was meant to hold during the session today. The glass gleamed, familiar, but not correct. This wasn’t the bottle design Lan Zhan had chosen. This looked just like all the other bottles Gentian House used.

“Excuse me,” he asked. “What’s this?”

“The perfume we’re shooting,” she replied, cordial, perhaps a little concerned. “Is there something wrong?”

“It’s the wrong bottle.” He shook it in demonstration. “This isn’t—” Looking at the label, his heart squeezed. It was called regrets. That, uh, that made sense, he supposed. There were a lot of things to regret about what happened. Though he opened the bottle to smell its contents, it did no good. The liquid inside was only water, lightly tinted. Of course they wouldn’t have the completed perfume yet. “Maybe his uncle made him change it?”

“I… I don’t know.”

Uneasy, Wei Ying did his best to focus on the shoot, gave everything he could to it, hoped it would be what Lan Zhan wanted from it. The photographer guided him gently, asked for sensual, easy to emulate with the touch of skin-warmed metal against his throat and wrists, the quiet of the set, the hush of luxurious fabric against his skin, the cool glass he was asked to press against his jaw.

“Turn your head please,” the photographer asked. Rolling his neck, he saw—

His pulse jumped and with how focused on him everyone seemed to be, caught in whatever web the photographer was pulling around them all, he was certain the bounding could be seen through the camera’s lens.

“Lan Zhan?”

“We’re almost done,” the photographer called. She wasn’t quite admonishing him, but it made him realize belatedly that he’d pulled himself out of position. “Do you need a break?”

Yes, yes. He needed to throw himself into Lan Zhan’s arms and never let go. He needed to chill the fuck out. “No,” he replied. “I’m sorry. Let’s… let’s finish up.” He lowered his eyes and hoped against hope that Lan Zhan wouldn’t leave.

It felt like days, even though it could only have been minutes, not even a full hour until she called it. And afterward, he had to rid himself of these clothes and accessories.

The stylist removed the jewelry from his hands and neck and even a few decorations that had been woven into his hair, sparkling and gleaming against the deep, dark black of it. He tried to smile and joked with the stylist to discharge the nerves singing through him, made a silly face or two while she worked to remove him from the trappings of the false, beautiful fantasy he’d helped conjure.

As soon as the stylist was done, he searched the space for Lan Zhan. It didn’t take long to find him. He was still exactly where he’d started out when Wei Ying first saw him. Though having his wishes granted left him feeling a little weak, fearful of what he was walking himself right into, he did it anyway.

In truth, Lan Zhan didn’t look much less stunned, which put them in the same boat and that meant Wei Ying could be a little stronger. “Lan Zhan!” he called, feigning cheer and certainty. “Lan Zhan, what do you think?”

“You looked—” His gaze warmed and then lost itself somewhere along the way. “You’re beautiful.”

Oh. Wei Ying couldn’t do this. But he had to, didn’t he? “Lan Zhan, I…” The heel of his shoe skimmed across the floor. “What happened to Xiao Xingchen’s bottle?”

“What?”

“For my perfume? Y-your perfume? The one I shot with… it’s the same as all the others? Did your uncle—”

“You aren’t shooting for unrestrained.”

“unrestrained?”

“Your perfume. That’s it’s name. You’re not shooting for it today.” Lan Zhan’s attention drifted, as though caught by some unseen presence. “You won’t be shooting for it at all.”

Wei Ying’s heart didn’t shatter at the thought of that. They’d put so much work into it. “What? Lan Zhan, what do you—what does that mean? Why can’t I shoot for it?”

Lan Zhan said nothing for a time, long enough that Wei Ying had to shake him by the arms to get his attention back. “Lan Zhan, why can’t I shoot for it?”

“It’s not being released.”

“You—I gave it to Lan Qiren for you. All he had to do was run a sample through a spectrometer or whatever and you’d know what’s in it, right? Even if you lost all the notes? That’s how it works, right? How can it not be released?”

“Wei Ying, I…” Lan Zhan looked around the room, reached for Wei Ying, pulled him away until he found a private space to tuck them both into. “Do you remember when you asked me if I could choose you, just the once? When you asked me to pretend that was a possibility?”

Of course he did. How could he not? Face heating, he blinked away the prickling feeling in his eyes. All he could do was nod in acknowledgment.

“This way, I don’t have to pretend. Wei Ying, I never… I realized I never sacrificed anything for you. The entire time we were together and when you were helping me again… I never had to give anything up. If… if you had let me… no, if I’d made myself clearer to you and you’d accepted it then… I could have released it. Because I would have had the chance to make it up to you in other ways.”

He chewed his lower lip and wouldn’t meet Wei Ying’s eyes.

“But I didn’t,” Wei Ying said, gentle.

“I knew it was a possibility, so that was… that was my compromise to myself. If I couldn’t make it up to you directly, I would do this.”

“You sacrificed unrestrained,” Wei Ying said, feeling sick, feeling hollow. Oh, Lan Zhan.

“Yes. It was the only thing I could think to do.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I didn’t want you to feel guilty or obligated or—”

Wei Ying slapped his hand over Lan Zhan’s mouth, overwhelmed by, by… by something. Lan Zhan’s stubborn, pig-headed stupidity maybe. The uselessness of his gesture. The pain he caused himself that Wei Ying might never have discovered. What if he’d been unable to do this shoot today? It had started getting around that Wei Ying wasn’t modeling any longer, that he was looking to do something else. A lot of people were interested in his handling of social media. What if he’d taken up on one of the feelers that were already being extended to him?

His mother had asked him if Lan Zhan had changed. This was… for how inevitable it suddenly felt, it did seem drastic. Swiping his hand over his eyes and drawing in a deep breath, he let go of Lan Zhan’s face.

Lan Zhan, for once in his life, took immediate advantage and started speaking again. So many words. The sort of words Wei Ying had never thought he’d get to hear.

“Wei Ying, I was wrong when I said I couldn’t find balance when I was with you,” Lan Zhan replied. “I… I let you go to chase after something that was worthless without you. It was only when you came back that I truly understood the extent of the harm that I did. I’ve been unhappy and stifled and nearly ruined every relationship I treasure because I can’t find balance without you. I am made better in every way by your presence in my life.” Lan Zhan's throat bobbed. The hungry glitter of emotion and need sparkled in his eyes. “I’ve done nothing to earn the chance, but… I would like to give the decision about our relationship or lack thereof back to you.”

“Lan Zhan?”

“If you will have me, I would be yours,” Lan Zhan said. “That was what I intended to say at the airport. If I had the opportunity.”

This couldn’t be real. Lan Zhan couldn’t be saying these things. And miraculously, Wei Ying was believing them. “Your career…”

“I know now what it is to truly fear losing my work.” Lan Zhan pressed his hand to Wei Ying’s cheek, brushed his thumb over the bone. His touch was so gentle, like Wei Ying was something fragile, worth taking care of. “My fears when we were younger were unfounded and baseless. I was swayed against my own judgment by those fears. Wei Ying, even if I lose my career somehow, I’ve already lost worse.”

With a watery laugh, Wei Ying brushed his palms over his eyes again, slipping his hand beneath Lan Zhan’s and then twisting his to twine their fingers together. What the fuck. “Ah, Lan Zhan. Why would you say such nice things when I’m so grubby and gross from being under the lights so long?”

“You’re not,” Lan Zhan insisted. “Wei Ying, I don’t mean to pressure you. If you need to think about it, I’ll wait. I just—I needed to tell you. And thank you for everything you did for me. I’m okay with whatever you decide.”

Fuck, Lan Zhan was so stupid if he thought Wei Ying needed time to decide after that sort of declaration. It was the only thing that ever held him back, Lan Zhan not taking a chance on him. “Lan Zhan, there’s no decision I have to make. You’ve always been it for me. I—fuck, I never thought there was… Lan Zhan, you’ll have to peel me off you if you want me gone now. You know that, right?”

“I won’t.” He dared to lean in, pressed a kiss to Wei Ying’s temple, gasped when Wei Ying tipped his head down to capture Lan Zhan’s lips. Breathless when they parted, he said again, “I never wanted you gone. I won’t. I promise.” They didn’t remain parted for long. Wei Ying couldn’t stop kissing him.

Wei Ying lost track of the minutes they spent in one another’s arms. “You—you named it unrestrained? My perfume?”

Lan Zhan’s breath, warm, steady, ghosted over Wei Ying’s ear as he answered. “It is how I see you and how I wish my love for you to express itself. It seemed like the right name.”

How could he—in all of his imaginings, he’d never thought Lan Zhan could sound so… so sincere and romantic. “So it’s our perfume then?”

“Mn, I suppose it is.”

Lan Zhan’s phone rang at precisely 5:04AM. Wei Ying knew this because he was forced to stare blearily at the screen as it shrieked from the bed stand. Lan Zhan was already out of bed, off in the bathroom running the tap, probably brushing his teeth because some habits never died.

Sleep-deprived in the best possible way, still aching in his favorite places, he swiped and said, “Lan Zhan’s phone.”

“Excuse me?”

Wei Ying did not recognize the voice, but he was suddenly scrambling upright, exquisitely aware of how this would sound to anyone who called. “Shit,” he said, quietly enough that he didn’t think the man could hear. Then he pulled the phone away and looked at the screen. Uncle. Shit. It wasn’t just a bad dream. Instead of owning up, he scrambled off the bed and shoved open the bathroom door where, lo and behold, Lan Zhan’s mouth was foamy with toothpaste. His toothbrush hung out of the corner of his mouth as it fell open and Wei Ying realized—

He realized he was naked.

“Sorry, bye!” he said, shoving the phone into Lan Zhan’s hand. “It’s your uncle. I’m gonna call emergency services because, uh, I might have precipitated a homicide here, haha.”

“Wei—” Lan Zhan said, voice blurry from the toothpaste before Wei Ying bolted. Wei Ying heard the loud splat of toothpaste as Lan Zhan spit into the sink. From outside the door, Wei Ying could hear Lan Zhan say hello, too.

While Lan Zhan talked in the bathroom, Wei Ying gathered up his clothing from where it dotted the floor, grabbed Lan Zhan’s, too, gently placing Lan Zhan’s on the bed as he began shoving his own on. Stupid. It had been stupid to do this, stupid to think—

Lan Zhan stepped into the bedroom from the bathroom, soft-worn pajama bottoms low on his hips, phone still up to his ear. He was listening intently to what was being said, but his brow furrowed as he watched Wei Ying muddling his way through putting his clothes on.

“Uncle, please excuse me,” he said. Holding his hand over the phone, he asked, “Wei Ying, what are you doing?”

“Uh… going?”

Lan Zhan’s features didn’t change significantly, but Wei Ying could see the conflict taking place there. “You are free to leave if that is what you wish, but I’d hoped to have breakfast with you at least.”

Wei Ying blinked, but before he could answer, Lan Zhan’s uncle was speaking again, loud enough that Wei Ying could hear the shape if not the content. Lan Zhan listened politely, eyes never straying far from where Wei Ying was sitting, half poised to finish dressing.

“Uncle,” Lan Zhan said. “Thank you for your congratulations. Yes, Wei Ying and I will be at the launch event later today.” His eyes found Wei Ying’s. He blessed Wei Ying with a reassuring smile. There was a pause during which Wei Ying was certain his own heart would give out. “No, I will not be coming in early.” Another pause. “Yes, I do believe I have better things to do at the moment than chain myself to a desk contemplating the relative merits of indoles versus skatoles.” Silence. “I’ll leave that for you to decide. Goodbye, uncle.”

Wei Ying could only blink yet again.

“What?” Lan Zhan asked.

“What what? You tell me what. Lan Zhan, what did you do? What just happened?”

“Uncle wished to congratulate me on unrestrained’s launch. Early press for it has been positive. There’s talk that it might be a contender in next year’s INPAs if I were to submit it for consideration.”

“There’s a big audience for perfume reviews?”

“Mn. There are journalists who focus on perfume criticism, yes.”

“Lan Zhan!” How could he be so calm? “People like it?”

“Apparently.”

Jumping to his feet, he yanked Lan Zhan into a hug and then kissed the mint flavor from his lips. “How do you feel about it?” he asked, when they parted a long, long, long moment later. “What’s that even like? Having critics like you?”

“I…” His hands scrubbed up and down Wei Ying’s bare arms, as though he couldn’t get enough of touching as much of Wei Ying as he could reach. “Of the things I’ve gained since you came back, having you here is more important. I am gratified, but… but truly, I do not care.”

Though Wei Ying felt better based on Lan Zhan’s words, he didn’t want Lan Zhan to go unreconciled with his family. He never wanted to be a sticking point. “What about your uncle?”

“He will probably always complain that I’m not being dedicated enough,” Lan Zhan said. He stroked Wei Ying’s hair and then pressed a kiss into it. “But he will only succeed in making me work more diligently for my own gratification and—” Another bone-melting kiss. “—yours, too.”

“You’ve thought a lot about how you wish to diligently gratify me, huh?”

“Mn,” he said, his hands finally coming to rest around the base of Wei Ying’s neck, gentle, thumbs slipping back and forth over his clavicle. “I had a lot of time to think after you fell asleep last night.”

“You haven’t slept?”

“Sometimes I can’t. It’s not so bad when you’re here with me,” he said, honest, open, bright enough to burn. “It wasn’t the first time I stayed awake all night nor will it be the last. I’m often restless before launches and this one is… more important than most. It was a pleasure this time rather than grueling or lonely at least. I do have an idea, now that unrestrained will be released. A few actually.”

“Oh?”

“I’d perhaps like to start with the one where I take you back to bed.”

Wei Ying had, of course, been to France before, but he’d apparently never really been to France because unlike Paris, which was awful and snobby and kind of garbage underneath the fake chic exterior, this was…

It was beautiful.

Like something out of a dream.

“Lan Zhan,” Wei Ying said, already pulling his phone from his pocket. Now that he was in charge of Gentian House’s social media accounts—a gentle suggestion from Jiang Yanli, because apparently she and Lan Zhan were best friends now because she was so invested in Lan Zhan’s work and wanted the best for both of them—he had all sorts of reasons to document anything and everything, including their maybe-kinda-sorta honeymoon-cum-supply tour. Lan Zhan was at the moment guiding him down the quaint winding paths, their rolling bags clicking rhythmically against the cobblestones, so certain that he might have passed for someone who lived here full time as he called out the names of various streets and the stores and museums that dotted them. “Lan Zhan, this is Grasse, really?”

“Mn.”

“Why did you ever leave?” It was so different from the bustle of Suzhou and Shanghai, the grimy streets of London and New York. Even the air here seemed perfumed, which was ridiculous except for how every time he turned around, he felt like he might step on a flower somewhere. Just out of sight was the turquoise sea of the Mediterranean. The briny scent of it carried, clean and pleasant, on a breeze and it was a dry, warm, twenty-six degrees Celsius.

Lan Zhan was guiding him down various streets and side alleys, hand in hand, and he didn’t think he’d ever seen Lan Zhan so settled. “My place is in Suzhou,” he answered, “but it’s nice to visit again.”

“Where are we going?” The street they were currently walking down opened into a roundabout where a bus unloaded happy, chattering tourists.

“You’ll see.”

Once they made their way onto the roundabout’s sidewalk and passed the bus, a man shouted unexpectedly, launching himself forward from where he’d previously leaned against the bed of a bubble-bodied, vintage blue truck the color of a robin’s egg. He spoke in rapid-fire French and Lan Zhan answered back perfectly. A smile stretched so widely across his mouth that Wei Ying was knocked sideways by its presence and then the man pulled Lan Zhan into a hug and—

And Wei Ying was going to intervene because Lan Zhan wasn’t much for touching other people, but then Lan Zhan hugged him back and it was so strange and charming that Wei Ying could only step back and watch as they spit very pretty words at one another, exuberant and joyful and, god, why didn’t Lan Zhan stay here if it made him so happy?

If nothing else, he’d be dragging Lan Zhan back as often as was feasible if only to see this again.

The man looked at Wei Ying from over Lan Zhan’s shoulder and grinned brightly. In Chinese, he said, “Are you Wei Ying?”

“Uh… yes?” Wow. If he knew this was going to be a multilingual affair, he’d have dusted off the French he’d learned from some of the other models he’d worked with. Except that he mostly knew words that weren’t terribly polite or useful outside of the context of a party and/or runway show.

“This is Florent,” Lan Zhan offered. Of course this was Florent. Who else could it be that Lan Zhan so cherished in Grasse?

“Ah, Florent.” He smiled and gave his hand, found himself pulled immediately into a hug, too. This time, he was the one who didn’t know what to do with the touch. “You never mentioned how handsome he is, Lan Zhan.”

At that, Florent laughed. “And yet, I’ve always known how handsome you would be.” He held Wei Ying at arm’s length. “Very much exactly what I pictured from all of Lan Zhan’s mooning letters. Truly an excellent inspiration for unrestrained. I think he’s pined for the right person. I can tell you were worth the wait.”

Oh, great. Now it was Wei Ying’s turn to blush as he felt heat creep up his neck toward his face. “Eh?”

“He seems happy. It matches his letters. I’m very happy for him.” He turned and poked Lan Zhan in the arm. “I’m very happy for you.”

“I’ve been fortunate,” Lan Zhan agreed, quiet, chest puffed out a little in pleasure. He took Wei Ying’s hand in his and pressed a kiss to the back of it. Wei Ying wasn’t certain he’d ever get used to such casual displays of affection and very nearly swooned right then and there. Lan Zhan noticed, of course, and pulled him in to press another kiss to the corner of his mouth.

“What’s fortunate is you’re in time for the harvest. I’m putting both of you to work. Crocuses as far as the eye can see.” Florent guided them back to the truck and took their luggage from them, hefting it easily into the bed of the truck. “Wei Ying, have you ever harvested saffron?”

A smile tugged at his mouth. “I can’t say I have,” he said, squeezing Lan Zhan’s hand, grateful that no matter that his and Lan Zhan’s paths were as winding and bumpy as these roads in Grasse, they’d found their way here in the end, “but I’m very much looking forward to it.”